


Magical Encounters

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asphyxiation, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, Derek's Past Consent Issues with Kate, Dirty Talk, Emotionally Hurt Derek Hale, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Executive Derek Hale, Famous Derek Hale, Hurt Stiles, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Stiles, M/M, Nice Peter Hale, Online Relationship, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Phone Sex, Phone sex operator AU, Pining Derek, Pining Derek Hale, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rich Derek Hale, Stalking, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stilinski Family Feels, The Hale Fire, Warning: Gerard Argent, Warning: Kate Argent, phone sex operator, wounded stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 15:56:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 105,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15866892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: “Shut up and talk to me.”Spark laughed, and it made Derek’s muscles relax even more. God, even just his voice was enough to calm him down. Derek wished their relationship wasn’t what it was. He knew it could never be anything more, but he wished they’d met under different circumstances.“Well, which is it? Shut up, or talk to you? Or did you need a little bit of relief?”Spark’s voice lowered and it shot straight to Derek’s groin.“Are you in need of some other services, Derek?”“Don’t do that,” Derek snapped. He hadn’t meant for it to come out so hostile, but Spark didn’t often use that voice with him. His ‘service’ voice. The one he used to get people off. When Derek was having a normal day, he didn’t mind it so much, but today? No, today he felt it go straight to his dick and he didnotwant to do that to Spark. He didn’t.He fuckingdidn’t!“Sorry, sorry,”Spark said quickly.“Yeesh, itwasa bad day, huh? Okay, no problem, let’s make you happy again. As happy as a grumpy motherfucker like youcanbe, anyway.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So a few things that are kind of spoilery but this is the epitome of DON’T LIKE DON’T READ: 
> 
> 1) This did not turn out AT ALL as I planned in my head. I probably should’ve written the whole idea down, that was my bad. It was meant to be fluffy with a bit of angst, and it turned into this weird, dark piece I can’t even explain other than clearly I was having a bad period while writing this.  
> 2) This is going to have a lot of uncomfortable (at least I thought so while writing it) themes. There are mentions of past rape, attempted rape, rebuffed advances, old men trying to prey on young men (who always escape uncomfortable situations, ithankyou), sexual content, comments on asphyxiation while having sex, actual asphyxiation, and probably other things that don’t meet everyone’s likes. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.  
> 3) I do not work in the sex industry. Or law enforcement. Or business. I did the best I could with what I had in my brain and what was provided by the internet. The sex hotline was hard to write, but I did what I could as best I could. Laws I had to look into and try and figure out where the line was drawn. Business was easier, just find enough sites and you’re golden. Please excuse any unrealistic parts, I am but a humble fanfic author, I do not do this for a living, this is just for shits and giggles.  
> 4) I promise there’s Sterek, and none of the bad stuff happens with the Sterek. That’s about all I can give you. 
> 
> Feel free to touch base with me here or on [Tumblr](https://isthatbloodonhisshirt.tumblr.com/) if you have any questions before reading the piece.

It had been a long and stressful day at work. No matter how often he woke up, left the apartment, and did his job, somehow it never stopped being long and stressful. After eight years, he really should’ve been used to it by now, but he still wasn’t. He didn’t think it was possible to ever be used to this.

It probably had something to do with the fact that he wasn’t a morning person. He never had been, and he never would be. Waking up at the ungodly hour of five was inconceivable for someone who slept until three in the afternoon on weekends.

Thankfully, today was Friday, which meant he could sleep in tomorrow. He was looking forward to that, but not nearly as much as he was looking forward to his usual Friday night appointment.

Derek Hale entered his penthouse apartment with his briefcase in one hand and his coat on his other arm. He flipped on the lights with his coat hand, keys held loosely in his fist, and let the door shut behind him.

Flicking the lock, he turned to toss his keys onto the marble counter and then dropped his coat onto the back of one of the barstools. His briefcase was set down by the island and he immediately fished out his phone, unlocking the screen while pulling off his tie and heading for the stairs that led up to his bedroom.

Scrolling through his contacts, he could already feel the ball of anxiety in his chest loosening when he found the right one, hitting the call button and putting the phone to his ear. He kicked off his black, polishable shoes in the doorway of his bedroom and crossed the carpeted floor to the bathroom. He was halfway through the walk-in closet that separated his room and bathroom when the line clicked.

 _“Hello,”_ a low, sultry voice purred down the line. _“You’ve reached Magical Encounters. How may we serve you?”_

Derek had long ago learned _not_  to interrupt the receptionist. She didn’t take kindly to it, and often hung up on him until he’d figured out to let her get her entire spiel out.

“I have an appointment with Spark,” he informed her.

 _“Oh,”_ her voice lost some of its cheer. _“Derek. I’ll patch you through.”_

He didn’t bother thanking her. Even though he’d been respectful since he’d starting booking the appointments three months ago, and had only interrupted her the first few times he’d called, she always acted like he was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. He didn’t care, and didn’t bother to pretend he did. He just waited for her to speak, told her who he wanted, and she patched him through. As long as she did her job, he had no complaints.

Putting the phone on speaker now that he was expecting someone familiar, he listened to the cliched elevator music interspersed with sultry voices commenting on various parts of his anatomy while removing his suit jacket and setting it aside to be dry-cleaned. His tie went back in his closet on the tie-rack, and he was halfway through unbuttoning his shirt when the elevator music stopped.

 _“Thank God!”_ a loud, boisterous voice called down the line. Despite himself, Derek smiled a little, hearing the grin in the other’s tone. _“You’re late! They made me take a call!”_

“Some of us work, you know,” Derek informed him, removing his button-up and tossing it into his laundry basket. “We can’t all slack off like you.”

 _“Excuse you,”_ Spark insisted, feigning offense. _“I’ll have you know I work **extremely**  hard, thank you very much. Dick doesn’t go down all night.”_

Derek rolled his eyes at the other’s attempt at humour and unbuckled his belt, pulling it through the loops and hanging it up with his other belts in his closet.

“Yeah, your job sounds awful. So stressful and horrible.”

_“Hey man, you try it sometime, see how easy it is.”_

“No thanks, I’ll leave that to you.” He wandered back into the bathroom, closer to his phone, then undid his pants and yanked them down. “How was your day?”

 _“Ugh,”_ Spark whined pitifully, followed up by nonsensical noises. _“Terrible. That one creepy guy called again. Operator didn’t recognize his voice because he changed it, and it even took me a few minutes after we’d started to realize it was him. Really, I only did because I recognize his kinks.”_

Derek scowled at that, tugging off his socks, then picked up his pants and tossed all three in the laundry. He hated hearing about the creeper who was almost stalking Spark. It made him uncomfortable to think about how he might call one day and find out Spark was missing, or worse, dead. It made him fiercely protective, too.

“What happened?” he asked, voice sharper than he’d intended. It was clear Spark heard the edge, because there was an evident smile in his tone when he replied.

_“All good. I messaged my boss and she stole my line. Told him if he didn’t fuck off, she’d have grounds to trace him. We really don’t take that kind of shit here, as you well know.”_

He did know. He’d had to read a whole bunch of legal documents when he’d created a full account. He needed an account for appointments, and after two calls with someone other than Spark, he had _definitely_  wanted to make appointments so he could have him once a week.

“I’m glad she sorted it out. Still, you should be careful.” He tugged his wife-beater off and threw it to join his other dirty clothes. He missed the hamper but didn’t bother picking it up. He just grabbed his sweats from behind the door and yanked them on. “There are a lot of crazy people out there.”

_“Don’t worry about me. I’m a big boy. Pay bills and file taxes and everything.”_

Derek just snorted, trying—not for the first time—to picture the person on the other end of the line. “Whatever you say. Aren’t you like, twelve?”

_“Excuse you, thirteen. Come on, man. Why you gotta hurt me like that?”_

“Of course.” Derek picked up his phone once his sweats were on and headed back through his bedroom to return to the kitchen for dinner. He kept the phone on speaker so he’d have both hands downstairs. “Okay, I’m ready.”

 _“Ugh,”_ Spark whined again, and Derek realized his mistake.

“Stop being so dramatic. Where did you leave off last time?”

 _“Um,”_ Derek heard papers shuffling on the other end, _“did the Alpha get revealed yet?”_

“Nope.”

 _“Okay, I think we were here then!”_ he proclaimed proudly, likely brandishing a page Derek couldn’t see. _“Get ready to have your ass blown off, because this is gonna be wild.”_

Derek smiled, setting the phone down on the counter, turning up the volume as loud as it could go, and opening the fridge. “I’m all ears.”

* * *

Derek Hale had a good life. Attractive, rich, successful business owner, the works. With a double major in Business and Finance, a large inheritance from a family tragedy, and enough determination to put everyone in Beacon Hills to shame, it wasn’t a wonder that he rose through the ranks in every job he worked at more quickly than they could promote him.

He’d never really expected to become as successful as he did. He’d always wanted his own business, but he knew it would be near impossible to create his own firm in such a small town.

Beacon Hills proved him wrong. Within two years of setting out to create a large, successful investment firm with his uncle, he’d recruited over seventy advisors and had more than five billion dollars in assets under administration. By five years, the numbers had almost tripled, and now eight years later, his firm was one of the most successful firms in the country, with branches across America, one major Head Office, and another satellite back office across the country.

The Head Office, of course, was in Beacon Hills, and employed over four hundred people in various position from New Accounts to Compliance. Since he and his uncle had created the firm together from the ground up, there was a lot of discussion on who would be best suited for the top positions. Because his uncle, Peter Hale, was much more people oriented than Derek was, they’d decided he would be the Chief Executive Officer, and Derek would be the Chief Operating Officer. It worked well for Derek, given he mostly did the business side of things and didn’t like having to sell their company to others to get more notice. He thought they got enough notice without his help.

Of course, building a company from the ground up meant little to no time for a personal life. Derek had never had any complaints about that, and was a relatively closed-off person after a traumatic event in his youth. He didn’t trust people very easily, and he found it more beneficial to focus on his job than worry about having a partner. He didn’t feel like he needed one, because he was perfectly happy on his own.

Peter had other ideas, as did his secretary and close childhood friend, Erica Reyes. Who he’d fired.

Twice.

Derek was _happy_! He’d always been happy, and he always _would_  be happy! Barring those rough few years after the family fire, he felt like he’d bounced back pretty well. A little closed off, abrasive at times, and definitely untrusting, but he was still happy!

He didn’t need someone in his life to ‘complete him,’ and he hated that most people thought his demeanour would improve exponentially if he was getting laid on a regular basis. Finding a partner he trusted and wanted to be with was more trouble than it was worth. If he wanted a quick fix—which he rarely did, but it happen on occasion—Derek knew where the bars were. It wasn’t like it was a challenge for someone like him to pick up a quick fuck for a night. He just didn’t do it very often because he was busy and, oh yeah, had literally no fucking sex drive!

He didn’t fucking need anyone.

Apparently Peter—and Erica, hence the firings—disagreed. They were adamant that someone like him _needed_ a significant other or, at the very least, needed to get _laid_  on a regular basis. Peter had been fairly vocal about how most, if not all, of Derek’s frustrations would disappear if he would just go out and get laid more often.

Erica had started commenting on it with anyone who would listen to her, including Derek’s other close childhood friends, and it got to the point where everyone and their mother was trying to set him up with someone.

After almost two months of battles from both sides, at work and at home, Derek knew he had to do something. They didn’t seem to care if he was _with_  someone, or just getting laid, considering Peter had ordered him a prostitute once, which Derek still hadn’t forgiven him for. So, he’d looked up sex hotlines on Google, called the first one he’d found, and asked for their best employee.

That was how he’d met Spark. The second he’d spoken his first word, Derek had interrupted him. He’d explained his situation, about wanting to get people off his back, and asked if this Spark individual would like to give him half an hour of his time where he could talk about anything he wanted.

And boy could Spark ever talk. About anything and everything. Derek had been annoyed at first, wondering how someone who had no choice but to talk for a living could find _so much_ to say. Derek had disliked him almost immediately. Spark was loud, excitable, and asked what Derek considered to be prying questions. He’d watched the clock almost the entire time, and at the half hour mark, he’d sarcastically thanked Spark for his time and hung up.

Peter was a creeper, and because all of Derek’s bills were delivered to him at work, it was easy for him to pry into his phone bill and see a rather expensive call to a specific number that had never shown up before. That had been what Derek was hoping for.

The next day, he was called to Peter’s office and his uncle proceeded to ask him about what “Magical Encounters” was—despite the look on his face making it obvious he’d looked it up online—and had demanded details.

Explaining what he’d “done,” it had gotten most people off his back. The following Friday, he’d called the service back so it wouldn’t look weird if he did this the one time and never again. He hadn’t asked for anyone in particular, and had happened to get Spark again.

_“Welcome back! Well this is fun, though really, if everyone you know is thinking you need to get laid, you’re probably in desperate need of it. I just find it weird you’re bothering to call us to keep up this ruse and you’re not even getting off. Wouldn’t you rather get something out of this since you’re paying for it?”_

Derek hadn’t answered any of his questions, and snapped at him to mind his own business. Spark hadn’t seemed to take it personally, and had gone back to talking about anything he could think of, jumping from topic to topic with no discernable pattern or thought process. After half an hour, Derek hadn’t even bothered saying goodbye. He’d hung up.

The following week he’d taken a break from it, just to see if two weeks was enough to get everyone off his case. He’d lasted one week with no comments, but not two. After the second week with no call, people claimed he was grumpier, and sexually frustrated, and all around intolerable. Which was ridiculous because literally nothing had changed between the two weeks of calls and the two weeks without them!

Figuring this was Peter’s way of trying to get him to do something about it, he’d sucked it up and called the place back. This time, he’d gotten someone other than Spark, and it had not gone as well. The woman on the other end had been hesitant to skirt her responsibilities, and the call was filled with awkward silences and stilted attempts at starting something, which Derek shot down every time.

The following week was a different individual once more, and while not as painful as the last call, it also hadn’t gone well. This one had started complaining about their job, bitching about gross customers, insisting that everyone in their town was disgusting, and basically calling Derek a sicko, nevermind he wasn’t calling to get his rocks off.

Suddenly, excitable and loud-mouthed Spark didn’t seem so bad. At least he hadn’t tried starting anything, he filled the silence, _and_  he didn’t complain. He’d mostly been talking about movies and shows he liked to watch, his obsession with curly fries, and a full-blown analysis on every superhero in existence.

Derek realized how much he’d remembered about his first two conversations with Spark, and when it became obvious this was going to be a ongoing requirement—thanks to Peter—he decided he’d much rather deal with someone enjoyable than these other bottom-feeders. So, he’d called back after his half hour was up, asked about how to guarantee the same person every time, and had set up an account.

It wasn’t an exhaustive setup, considering it consisted only of his alias—which he’d said was Derek, because it would throw people off—as well as his preferred date and time for calls, his preferred party, his phone number, and an email address. They’d promised to keep everything strictly confidential, but given his email address was his full name, he’d quickly set up a new one while on the phone with the receptionist, and she’d sent him a bunch of documents to read over. He had to sign them digitally, which consisted mostly of just clicking a button confirming he’d read and agreed to everything, and then submitted the online document back to the company.

And that was it. The woman reminded him that, for the safety of their staff, no personal information could be exchanged from either side, and he almost snapped at her that he would never want to exchange anything, but managed to hold his tongue.

Once everything was set up, he’d asked for Spark again, and had waited almost ten minutes on hold while Spark finished up with another client.

When he’d finally answered, he’d been surprised to hear Derek’s voice, and even more surprised to find out Derek wanted to set up a standing appointment with him every Friday around six-thirty. Derek would’ve felt weird about Spark remembering him, but he doubted there were many people who called in just to chat—or have others chat—so it made sense.

The first month, Derek dreaded Fridays. Peter had started checking his online phone bill every Monday to confirm that he was still “getting some,” and he hated the knowledge that he had to go home after a long, hard day at work to listen to what sounded like a fucking child go off on stupid shit he didn’t care about.

It was in the second month that things changed. Spark was still as annoying as ever, but he’d started talking more about himself and his own interests and less about generic information that Derek didn’t give a shit about. Surprisingly, Spark was extremely interesting. Evidently, he didn’t go into as much detail as he would’ve were they actual friends, but the information he provided was interesting enough to hold Derek’s attention.

By the end of the second month, he realized he didn’t mind talking to Spark so much. He was interesting, and funny, and talented. He wanted to be a screenwriter, and was often working on his homework while they were on the phone together. He’d started talking about the plot, and brainstorming about things, and one day Derek found himself offering assistance. He hadn’t meant to, he’d just been listening to Spark talk about the complexities and problems of a specific scene, and Derek had absent-mindedly blurted out a random thought while playing cards on his computer.

Spark had gone silent, likely moreso from the shock of Derek speaking to him rather than the thought he shared, but that was when Derek realized these calls weren’t as bad as he was making them seem.

He’d been so angry at having to call, and so determined to hate everything about this self-imposed obligation, that he hadn’t actually considered that if he stopped hating it on principle, this could be more fun. Interesting, at least, if nothing else.

So, the next time he called, he struggled his way through a real conversation with Spark. The other seemed completely on board, filling the silences when needed, and helping Derek along when it became obvious he was struggling. He was _trying_ , and he could tell Spark appreciated it.

Now, after so many weeks of talking freely for half an hour a session, they were less than friends, but more than acquaintances. Derek felt like he knew Spark as a person, and he started looking forward to the call rather than dreading it.

Something furthered along by Spark’s decision to start sharing the full plot of his script for his screenwriting class. When Derek had asked if that was a good idea, Spark had just insisted that it wasn’t going to be anything he tried to market, so it wasn’t a big deal. Derek had no plans to steal the idea, but he felt uncomfortable with Spark’s trust in him.

Now, he didn’t care, because the idea was so fresh and fascinating that he was glad it had been shared with him. And they didn’t even just talk about his script. They talked about other things, being sure not to get too personal, for fear of one of them figuring out who the other was.

Spark had less to worry about, as far as Derek was concerned. Derek was a big name in town, everyone knew who he was, and it would definitely be a problem if anyone found out who he was calling every week.

It was different with friends and family knowing; he didn’t want the whole town finding out. The only people as well-known as him and his uncle in town were the mayor and her family, the sheriff and his kid, and the high school principal—who had to be at least two hundred years old by now, seriously.

No, it was better for him to watch himself, and only give as much as he could get away with. Besides, Spark spoke enough for the both of them.

And sometimes, the nights felt way too short, and Derek didn’t know how to handle how attached he was becoming. He really couldn’t get involved with a sex hotline operator, even if they weren’t having phone sex.

Even if, after months of getting to know Spark, he sometimes wanted to.

* * *

“You can’t leave me hanging there,” Derek insisted, lying on the couch now, his dinner eaten and laptop in his lap where he was playing Mah Jong. “What happens? Does the kid get out? Does the Alpha kill him? What about the nephew in the car? Don’t Werewolves have super-hearing?”

 _“I haven’t written it yet.”_ Derek heard the eye roll through the phone. _“It’s not easy, you know! I have to use my brain, get my ADHD under control, plan things out. I don’t just sit down and write hours and hours in a row.”_

“Maybe you should,” Derek said with a small, teasing smile.

 _“Yeah, whatever, Mr. Big Shot.”_ Spark snorted, but Derek knew it was all in good fun. _“Got any plans for the weekend? Or you gonna be boring and work?”_

“Says the guy who’s always working weekends.”

 _“Gotta pay the bills somehow,”_ he said with fake cheer. _“Also, I don’t work weekends, so nice shot, but you missed. Might pick up more hours, though. My dad can’t afford to get me through school on his own, so I want to help out where I can.”_

“Yeah. Didn’t you tell me once that your dad thinks you work a desk job somewhere with flexible hours?”

 _“Hey, hey, no judgement, remember? This is a judgement-free zone!”_ He imagined Spark was probably drawing a circle around himself with both hands. _“I tried going the respectable route, but no one would hire me because of my hours. I didn’t want to put my dad through any financial trouble, and this job pays really well. Sure, I spend hours getting people off, but at least I have our weekly chats to look forward to.”_

It made him feel guilty every time Spark said something like that, because lately, he didn’t think he’d mind trying something with him. Spark was so animated and cheerful whenever they spoke, it made Derek wonder what he’d be like working to get him off. Did he use a different voice, like the operator did? Did he dig deep to moan and pant into the phone? Did he sometimes touch himself if the person on the other end sounded sexy enough?

The thought of the last one irked him, not liking the thought of Spark getting turned on by anyone but him, but he forced the thought away savagely. Spark wasn’t his, and he didn’t want to turn into that other weird creeper.

And Spark deserved better than to have Derek thinking inappropriate things about him. He was smart, and kind, and funny, and Derek cared about him. In a weird less-than-friends-more-than-acquaintances way.

Clicking out of Mah Jong and opening up Yahtzee, Derek listened to Spark mutter something under his breath while shuffling papers and figured it was his turn to talk or Spark would get distracted by his homework.

“Can I ask you something?”

 _“Always,”_ Spark said absently, papers still shuffling. _“What’s up?”_

Derek thought about how to phrase his question, then decided there was no way to word it without it coming out a little weird, so he just went for it. “Why is your name Spark? I mean, obviously it’s not your _name_ , but I haven’t been able to figure out how it fits with your workplace. The other two I spoke to way back when had very obvious sex industry names, but yours is just... I mean, Spark?”

 _“Okay, first off, you’re a rude fucker for insulting my name. Spark is my given name, it says so on my birth certificate, how dare you?”_ Derek rolled his eyes, hearing the grin in Spark’s voice. _“Second, what do you mean it’s not sex industry appropriate? How do you figure? Spark is like... I’m **sparking** people’s interest. I’m **sparking**  emotions, zinging them up and down people’s spines. I’m **sparking**  a reaction, huh? Huh?”_ He clicked his tongue, and Derek was certain he’d just winked, despite him not being able to see it. _“Okay no, but really? When they told me I could pick my name, I looked at the name of the place and decided I’d go the magic route. So I figured magic, sparks, all that stuff. Spark just seemed to suit me. It fit. So I went for it.”_

“You certainly do light a _spark_  of annoyance,” Derek said with a fond smile, amused at the affronted exclamation from the other end.

_“How **dare**  you, Derek! You know what? For that, you don’t get to know what happens next week! You’ve wounded me. I’m **wounded** , Derek!”_

“I’m sure,” he said with a laugh, losing his round in Yahtzee and starting a new one. “I can hear th—”

He cut off when he heard an alarm go off and checked the time. It was just after seven, which meant his half hour was over. He crushed the disappointment threatening in his chest, and did his best to ignore the guilt at the sigh he heard on the other end.

_“Time’s up?”_

“Time’s up,” he confirmed quietly.

 _“Seems to go faster and faster every week. You sure you’re not just setting the time faster to get rid of me?”_ He could tell the tease was falling flat, and he hated having to hang up. Realistically, he didn’t _have_  to, he could stay on the line as long as he wanted, but he knew Peter would question it if he spent too long on the phone. He would start to think something wasn’t right, and suspect what Derek was doing. He didn’t need Peter on his ass again.

“I don’t have that much control over time,” Derek said, letting out a small sigh. “Talk to you next Friday?”

 _“Always.”_ He could hear Spark propping his voice up for his benefit, and Derek hated that.

“I’ll talk to you Friday, then. I’m still booked in?”

 _“Always,”_ Spark repeated. There was a brief silence, like he was hesitating with something, but when Derek opened his mouth to ask him what was up, Spark quickly said goodbye, wished him a good weekend, and disconnected the second Derek wished him the same.

He stared down at his screen, lighting up when the call ended, and kept his eyes on it until the screen dimmed and then turned off from misuse. He turned back to his game of Yahtzee, then decided he didn’t want to play anymore with nothing to distract him from how sad it was that he was home alone on a Friday playing fucking Mah Jong and Yahtzee. It was less sad when he was at work on a Friday night.

Slamming the laptop shut, he tossed it aside and rubbed his face, turning to glance at his phone again, sitting innocently on the couch cushion beside him.

Maybe he could get away with calling more often than once a week? After all, that wouldn’t be weird, right? One really long session would be weird, but multiple short sessions a week wouldn’t be weird, right? Peter couldn’t see the fault in that, right?

Then again, what made Spark’s creepy caller a creeper? What if he called too much and that made him a creeper? What if Derek turned into that? Then he wouldn’t be able to talk to Spark anymore, and he definitely didn’t want that.

Sighing and picking up the remote for the TV, he turned it on and flipped to the movie channel, beginning to watch what was playing before turning it off and getting to his feet. Maybe he’d go to the gym for a few hours. It beat staying home alone, thinking about someone he’d never even met.

* * *

Stiles Stilinski breathed hard into his headset, letting out a soft moan while he sat in the rolling chair, one fist against his cheek and his eyes almost glazing over while he stared at his work screen, reading through the last message the girl in the room next door had sent him about her struggles with her marriage. He didn’t know how he’d turned into the workplace therapist, but at least it gave him something to do while people jerked off.

_“Yeah... yeah baby, you like that?”_

“Fuck yes,” Stiles moaned into the mouthpiece. “You do me so good. You feel so good inside me. Can you feel me clenching around you? God, I want it to burn as you thrust into me.”

_“Yeah baby, yeah.”_

Stiles hated it when people called him ‘baby.’ Who in their right fucking mind wanted to be having sex with someone who called them ‘baby’? Why were the people in this town so fucking weird?

At least this dude hadn’t asked to be called ‘daddy.’ Those were the worst ones. Stiles always got stuck with the daddy-kink guys. It was so fucking gross.

 **[Spark]**  
I don’t know, Candy. I think this is really something you need to confront your husband about.  
**[Spark]**  
If you don’t, you might regret it.

_“Yeah... fuck... so close...”_

“Oh fuck yeah, do it. Shoot your load into me. Do it, I need it. I need it so bad. You feel so fucking good, Greg.”

 **[Candy]**  
but if i do that and im wrong my marriage is ruined!!!!

 **[Spark]**  
But if you don’t and he’s actually cheating on you, you’re going to keep hurting yourself. You have evidence, you know he is, you’re just afraid to confront him, and I get it. But you’re only making yourself unhappy, at this point. You deserve better.

Stiles heard the man on the other end let out a groan that was higher pitched than the others, and knew he’d finally come. It seemed to have taken so fucking long, and thank God he’d finally gotten off because Stiles wanted to go home and fucking sleep. He had homework to do tomorrow, and it was already twelve minutes past the end of his shift.

He waited for the guy on the other end to calm down, and when his breathing levelled out, Stiles said, “Thank you for calling Magical Encounters.”

Waiting a second to see if he’d be asked for another round, Stiles ended the call on the physical phone beside his computer when the man grunted a farewell.

He let out a sigh, rubbing his face with both hands, and then hit the speed-dial for reception.

_“Spark.”_

“I’m done for the night, B. I’ll talk to you Monday.”

_“Mmhm, good night, Spark. Sorry that last call took so long.”_

“It happens. Don’t work too hard.”

 _“I never do.”_ He heard the smirk in her voice and then she hung up.

Stiles glanced at his computer, but Candy hadn’t replied. He sighed and typed out another message.

 **[Spark]**  
I’m just worried about you, Candy. You’re always upset because you catch him taking calls late at night and going out when he thinks you’ll be home late. You need to talk to him.

 **[Candy]**  
i know  
**[Candy]**  
i just dont want to do that to the kids  
**[Candy]**  
if he and i split  
**[Candy]**  
it would devistate them

Stiles winced at the misspelled word, but didn’t comment on it. He didn’t know who Candy was in real life, a condition of his employment there, but it was clear she was worried about her finances as well as her kids. She probably wasn’t very educated, and her husband was likely the one providing for them. Maybe that was why Candy worked here. Subconsciously, she’d realized she had to get a job, and this was the easiest one for her to get with flexible hours.

It was true, because that was the main reason Stiles worked there, too. Flexible hours. His boss had tried to talk him out of it multiple times, but mostly because she worried about what Stiles’ dad would do to her if he found out.

Which was why he always told his dad he worked for Hale & Hale Financial Group.

 **[Spark]**  
You gotta do what’s best for you, Candy.  
**[Spark]**  
It’ll be hard, but it’s what’s in your best interest.  
**[Spark]**  
If you’re scared he’ll turn violent, please make sure you have someone else with you.  
**[Spark]**  
I gotta go, but we’ll catch up Monday, okay?  <3

 **[Candy]**  
sorry!!  
**[Candy]**  
didnt realize the time  
**[Candy]**  
have a good night spark  <3

 **[Spark]**  
Good night, Candy :)

He logged off the chat and turned off the computer once he’d shut everything down. Pushing away from the desk, he gathered up all of his homework and shoved it into his messenger bag, throwing it over one shoulder, and then speed-dialled another number.

It only rang once before a kind voice came down the line.

 _“All done for the night?”_ Tara Graeme asked, a hint of amusement in her tone.

“The horny can live another day knowing they got off to the sound of my lovely voice,” Stiles informed her.

She let out a groan. _“You know I don’t like that reminder. I used to help you with your homework. The idea of you working here kills me a little more each day.”_

“You’re the one who opened the place,” Stiles reminded her teasingly. “Am I good to make a break for it?”

_“Charity’s in the hallway getting water, but she shouldn’t be long.”_

“Cool.”

Stiles waited until Tara gave him the all-clear, then hung up the headset and made a run for it. He exited the little room he was in, then bolted for the back door, slamming through it and racing across the dark parking lot until he reached the sidewalk. He slowed to a jog for about a block, then stopped to walk the remaining two to where his Jeep was parked in a public parking lot.

When he reached it, he threw his bag into the passenger seat while climbing in and then slammed the door, rubbing his face with both hands and then starting the car. He was exhausted, which made sense since he’d had class that morning at nine, and then work from six in the evening to one in the morning.

Easing his Jeep onto the main road, he drove home to the soft hum of the radio, rolling the window down so the cold air would keep him awake. He parked in the driveway like he always did, his father’s cruiser gone meaning he was likely on the graveyard shift today. It was hard to keep his schedule straight anymore, since his dad never really followed it to begin with.

They’d have to talk about that.

Stiles let himself into the house, not bothering with any lights, and made sure the door was securely locked behind him. Climbing the stairs to the second floor, he dropped his bag by his bedroom door and walked to the closet, stripping out of his clothes and dumping everything into the laundry.

He always felt gross when he came home from work, and no matter how tired he was, he _always_  took a shower. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep if he didn’t. He felt dirty.

Walking to the bathroom in his boxers, he shut and locked the door, then went about brushing his teeth before cutting on the water in the shower and stripping entirely, stepping beneath the spray. He ran both hands through his hair, spitting water out of his mouth, and quickly started washing himself off before he passed out and brained himself on the tiled walls.

Stiles hated his job. He knew nobody liked being a sex hotline operator, but he especially hated it because of how many people’s voices he recognized.

Being the sheriff’s kid meant he knew a _lot_  of people.

He hadn’t wanted this job. Originally, he’d applied to a variety of places. Respectable places, too. McDonalds, WalMart, Hale & Hale Financial Group, the works. But nobody liked his hours. McDonalds fucking _rejected_  his hours because he said he could never work morning shifts, and he needed Sundays off for homework. What kind of bullshit corporation didn’t understand that people went to school and needed ample time for homework?

Either way, he’d spent the better part of a year trying to find a good job that would accommodate his fucked schedule because of his classes, and nowhere would hire him. It was pretty sad that he found himself at twenty-five trying to get through a second stint of schooling so he could actually do something he wanted.

Sure he had a Bachelor’s of Science already from UCLA, but he honestly didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life. After taking a year off, he’d spoken to his dad about his interest in writing for the film industry, and once his dad had confirmed he was fine with Stiles being a freeloader for a few more years, he’d applied to film school. He took the courses online, but they were at set times and some of them even involved participation via voicechat. Technology was out of control there days, Stiles loved it. It was all very beneficial for him since it meant he didn’t have to worry about room and board, or travelling to and from school, but he still felt bad for being a burden on his dad who was getting closer to retirement and had nothing in the bank for himself.

So, Stiles had decided to get a job. After searching for months for something that would accommodate his schedule, he’d gone to dinner with one of his dad’s old deputies, Tara Graeme. She’d quit the force after a near-fatal injury, and she was sympathetic to his plight of wanting to provide financial assistance for his father. He knew she owned the sex hotline in Beacon Hills—his dad also knew that, but they all tried not to talk about it because it made things weird—and Stiles had realized this would solve all his problems.

All of his classes were during the day, and Tara’s clientele was geared more towards the evening and nights. It paid well, because of the nature of the business, and it was _legal_. He would be able to work the hours she set, _and_  he’d be helping out his dad financially. Tara was also sorely lacking in the male demographic for work, because a lot of people were closeted in Beacon Hills and most of the time when they called in, men wanted to speak to other men. It was a win-win situation.

Tara had shot it down immediately. She was desperate, but not _that_  desperate. Stiles was someone she’d watched grow up, someone she cared about and wanted to see succeed. She also loved and respected his father, and was unwilling to have Stiles answering calls. Heaven forbid his _father_  should call one day, which Stiles knew would never happen, but he could see where she was concerned.

It had taken him _weeks_  to chip away at her resolve. He was still fairly certain the only reason she’d finally broken was because one of the guys at her workplace quit on her without warning, which had her down to two males in her workplace of twenty-four. Not ideal at all.

So, she’d finally agreed to hire him—with conditions. He wasn’t allowed to tell _anyone_  where he worked, and he wasn’t allowed to _ever_  be spotted. He had to sneak in and sneak out of the building, and he had to park his Jeep somewhere other than the employee lot, because _everyone_  recognized his Jeep.

He was the sheriff’s kid, everyone in town knew the sheriff’s kid. Even the fucking _Hales_  knew the sheriff’s kid. He wasn’t exactly a nobody, thanks for his father, and Tara did _not_  want this getting back to the sheriff.

So, Stiles had agreed, and they’d set up a system to get him in and out without anyone noticing him. The receptionist, Braeden, was the only other person who knew who Stiles was, because she was one of the few people in the building who had to speak to the operators and she’d recognized his voice when he wasn’t being all sultry and sexy.

She was also the one who’d trained him, though training wasn’t really needed for a job like that. It was mostly just lots of moaning and rehearsed comments about people. Besides, it was good having a second person know who he was because Tara went on vacation sometimes and Stiles needed a backup to help him get in and out without being seen. Braeden was cool anyway, so it worked out.

Now, he was almost two years in, and while he still hated the job with every fibre of his being, at least it paid well and he literally sat there and did whatever he wanted. He did homework sometimes depending on what the person on the other end wanted. Some of them just liked to hear him moan and groan without actually speaking, so he could focus on plotting his screenplay. Some of them wanted more interaction, which meant he had to pay a bit more attention. Those times were generally when he and the other people working would chat, occasionally playing games together on the shared system. They could play chess, battle Tetris, checkers, and solitaire in a versus format, so they kept each other entertained, for the most part.

And then Derek had called. It seemed like they’d been speaking for years instead of the few months it had been. He’d been such a douche at first, but Stiles was so relieved at not having to get someone off that he hadn’t cared. It had been the most amazing half hour of his working life. When he’d gotten the second call, he’d been surprised, but had still wanted to confirm that he really didn’t want to get off, because this was a business and it was weird that someone would call and spend _so much money_ to just sit there and listen to someone else talk.

After it became a regular thing and Derek thawed a little bit, Stiles wondered if maybe he was just lonely. Derek insisted it was to get people off his back, but Stiles couldn’t think of anyone in the world who would accept their friend or family calling a sex hotline being something acceptable. It was no better than picking up a prostitute, though probably cheaper and safer where STDs were concerned.

Not that Stiles had anything against prostitutes, because he was sure that job sucked a hundred thousand times more than his. At least he got to play solitaire while he worked. He didn’t think prostitutes did.

He still found it a little odd, but he also didn’t care, because now that they were on friendlier terms, Derek was amazing. He was actually surprisingly nice when he wanted to be, genuinely interested in Stiles’ screenplay, and his voice was like liquid sin. Stiles had no idea what liquid sin was supposed to sound like, but if sin were a liquid and had a sound, it would be Derek’s voice.

Fridays were the only workdays he looked forward to. His short half-hour with Derek was cherished time, and it was kind of nice to know that Derek liked him enough to have asked for him exclusively. There were a lot of other people in the building, but apparently he wanted Stiles, and that was amazing.

He often wondered what Derek looked like, what his real name was, what his _story_  was. Stiles didn’t think he was gay, or at least, he didn’t _seem_  to be gay. He knew the first time Derek had called that he’d just asked for their top operator, and that happened to be Stiles. It could’ve just as easily been someone else, and it wasn’t like Magical Encounters was only for one gender.

Still, Derek sounded like he was really hot, and Stiles had no idea why he didn’t just go out and get himself a girlfriend or a boyfriend. Not that he _wanted_  to lose him as a buddy on Fridays, but it was all very strange.

Maybe he was agoraphobic and hadn’t left his house in ten years.

Stiles almost fell asleep in the shower and realized it was time to get out. When he towelled off and headed for his room, he checked his phone and saw it was almost two in the morning. Groaning to himself, he pulled on sweats and a shirt sluggishly, slapped his light off, and fell face-first onto his bed, rolling himself up in his blankets before shutting his eyes for sleep.

He had nightmares of someone slapping at his ass and ordering him to call them ‘daddy.’

* * *

Derek rubbed at his forehead in an attempt to get the headache to go away, even as he knew it would do no good. One of the branch managers was giving him a very detailed rundown of how incompetent their back office was and how it was causing advisors in her branch to lose clients and business.

It was always hard taking calls like this, because Derek understood where the retail side was coming from, but also needed to consider the regulatory side of things. Their back office didn’t say ‘no’ because it was funny to get yelled at, they said ‘no’ because there was a legitimate reason for it. Either a law, or a regulation, or a legislation, or a firm policy.

He let the woman get another five minutes of anger in before cutting her off when she went to take a breath to ask what departments had been involved in the decision not to allow trades to be placed in an account. Once he had all the information he needed, he promised he would look into it and then hung up.

Rubbing at his face with both hands, he turned to the door when he heard a small chuckle, pulling at his cheeks slightly since he was still dragging his hands down them. His uncle was smiling while he walked into the large office, taking a seat in one of the chairs across from him at his desk and getting comfortable.

“Being CEO suddenly sounds a lot easier, doesn’t it?” Peter teased. “None of this angry advisors bullshit. The worst I hear is when someone has a complaint against _you_ , thinking I’m actually going to take them seriously and fire my own nephew.”

“I only hear from angry branch managers every once in a while,” Derek argued. “I’d pick being COO over your job _any_  day.” He let out a sigh and opened up a new email, searching through his contacts for the SVP of Administration and adding it into the ‘to’ field so he wouldn’t forget about emailing them.

“So, how’re things with your voice sex?”

Derek shot him a glare, especially since his door was open, but the only person within hearing range right now was Erica. She glanced up at the question, visible from where Derek’s desk was situated, and he scowled at her before motioning for her to come and close the door. She gave him an incredulous look, pointing at him, which suggested she thought he could damn well get up and close it himself.

He pointed at her and sliced a thumb across his throat, denoting he would fire her for a _third_  time if she acted like a child and she threw her hands up, rolling her eyes. It got her out of her seat though and she moved to the office door, giving him a sarcastic smile before slamming it shut hard enough to have the glass walls rattle. He watched her walk back to her desk through the pane and then focussed on Peter again.

“Are you still snooping on my online phone bill? I really need to change my password.”

“Don’t bother, nephew, I’d only figure it out like I do all your other passwords.” He waved one hand dismissively. “I’ve been seeing a lot of fluctuations in the price lately. Maybe you should get that checked out if it’s taking you so long to get off.”

“I’m really not interested in discussing my sex life with you,” Derek said dryly.

“And yet, here we are.” Peter spread his hands wide and grinned ferally. “Come now, Derek. Is it taking you a long time to finally come? I would suggest seeing a doctor, there may be a problem.”

“I like taking my time,” Derek bit out, wishing he could be doing _anything_  but having this conversation.

“They must be really good there,” Peter mused. “I might have to give them a call.”

Derek felt a stab of jealousy pass through him at the words and he had to forcibly push it back. Even if Peter called, the chances of him getting Spark were slim, not to mention he’d probably ask for a woman. Derek had lucked out asking for their top operator, because as he understood it from Spark, there were only five males currently working there, and the turnover for the men was extremely high. He doubted Peter would get Spark, even if he _did_  ask for one of the men.

Derek’s luck wasn’t _that_  bad.

Besides, Spark was doing a job. This all meant nothing to him. If Peter _happened_  to get him, he’d get him off and hang up, like he did with everyone else. And he didn’t _belong_  to Derek, he had nothing to be jealous about. They were barely even friends. They were just a bit more than acquaintances, there was no need to be fucking _jealous_.

“Your blowup doll not doing it for you anymore?” Derek forced out, trying to keep his expression neutral. If he let Peter rile him up, his uncle would know there was something to be suspicious about. Derek didn’t want to have to find a new place to call, he really _liked_  Spark.

“Cute, Derek.” Peter picked a piece of white thread off his black pants and dropped it on the floor, letting out a sigh. “Work has been... troubling of late. We’re expanding faster than I anticipated. It means more people are beginning to complain.”

“Given it’s mostly _me_  they complain to, I am aware.” Derek crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, scowling. “We’re also having a problem with one of the employees in Credit. There have been a lot of HR complaints about verbal abuse from one of the VPs to their underlings. It’s something I’m going to have to look into further with Kira.”

Kira Yukimura was the manager of HR, and happened to be a good friend of his. They hadn’t met before her employment at his firm, but since she’d been brought on five years ago, they’d developed a close friendship and he trusted her explicitly when it came to matters involving the staff. Their friendship was strictly professional, and he never saw her outside of work, because despite how much he argued with people, Derek truly didn’t trust others. He didn’t want to make friendly, it made it too easy to suffer at their hand. He liked keeping everyone at arm’s length, and had been like that since his family had died.

Kira seemed to understand that. She never pushed, and only occasionally asked him out to lunch, which usually revolved around work discussions she wanted to have with him outside of the office.

She’d confirmed the issue was turning into a problem, and now Derek was going to need to figure out if he had to fire one of their VPs and, if so, how they could protect the firm against a lawsuit. They could only fire him with cause, otherwise he was liable to sue, and Derek had another four complaints from branches he had to deal with without needing a back office employee being fired.

He rubbed at his face again just thinking about it, and wished it was Friday. Unsurprisingly to him, he realized he wished it was Friday because Spark would make everything infinitely better once they chatted. He wondered if he’d gotten any further in his screenplay. Derek was rather attached to the little goofball protagonist of Spark’s script and was worried about him.

His name was Dylan, and he’d just discovered who an evil, murdering Alpha Werewolf was—a previously-thought comatose uncle of the very evidently soon-to-be love interest in the car—and he worried about him getting mauled. Either he’d get mauled and turned into a Werewolf, or the nephew—named Tyler, because apparently Spark liked generic names—would come and save him. Derek really hoped the nephew saved him, it would detract from the interesting aspects of the plot if Dylan became a Werewolf.

It would be interesting to hear how everything progressed, especially considering the relationship in the show was meant to be between two men. Derek liked that times were changing, and he hoped that whatever Spark worked on next kept that theme. As a gay man himself, it was nice having representation. It wasn’t very common nowadays, though still much more than it used to be.

“You look stressed, nephew.” Peter was smiling slightly, like he had something up his sleeve. Derek hated when Peter looked like he had something up his sleeve, it usually meant bad news for him. “Maybe you need some time off. A vacation. Far away from Beacon Hills. With a handsome gentleman.”

Derek scowled at him, shifting forward and putting both hands on his desk. “Peter, what did you do?”

“I understand your desire to get off listening to someone’s voice, but wouldn’t it be better to just really go at it?” He winked. “I found you a cute date for a week off in the Bahamas.”

“No,” Derek snapped.

“Don’t worry, I knew you’d reject the offer, I didn’t book anything yet. It was worth a shot.” He sighed exaggeratedly and pulled out his phone, typing something on the screen before putting it back. Likely calling the whole thing off since, Derek was sure, Peter had _actually_  already booked everything. He was nothing if not optimistic.

Derek glanced up when Erica appeared at the door, pushing it open and poking her head in.

“You owe me fifty bucks,” she informed Peter.

“I am well aware of how much I owe you,” his uncle sighed, eyes still on Derek.

“Stop betting on my personal life,” Derek snapped, Erica shutting the door and returning to her desk, looking smug. She and Peter had been betting on his personal life for years, and he fucking hated it.

“I think you need to consider moving forward,” Peter said, ignoring Derek’s scowl and angry words. “The phonecall seems to only be keeping you satisfied and in a good mood for about three days. We’re just looking out for you.”

“You’re single and fifty, worry about yourself.”

Peter looked offended. “I’m only forty-two.”

“And still single,” Derek reminded him. If he pissed Peter off enough, maybe he would _leave_.

“Being twenty-eight and single isn’t much better.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night. Don’t forget to cuddle tight to your blowup doll.”

“You really need to be calling more often if you’re this grumpy.” Peter stood then, straightening out his suit. “I might have to see what the big deal is. Who do you normally speak to? Maybe I can see how good the place is.”

“I speak to a man,” Derek said dryly, knowing his uncle was straight and thus likely wouldn’t get off speaking to a guy. Though Spark might be an exception because _fuck_ , with that voice, Derek would be willing to bet he got people off with ease. And Spark didn’t even _try_  with Derek. He used his _normal_  voice, which was _crazy_.

He reminded himself he was being weird and creepy and forced the thoughts aside, waiting for Peter to grow bored and leave his office.

“Well, to each their own.” Peter moved to the door and pulled it open, his wallet in his hands while he counted out some bills. “Keep me apprised of the situation with the VP. If it needs to happen, I want to be prepared for the fallout.” He turned and held one hand out with a few bills folded between his index and middle fingers, putting his wallet away.

Erica leaned over her desk to snatch them, grinning triumphantly, and tucked them away.

“I wouldn’t do anything without speaking to you first, you know this,” Derek said, Peter turning to look back at him.

His uncle offered him a small, endearing smile, then called farewell and _almost_  left his office when he paused. Derek cocked an eyebrow, ready to be rid of him, but Peter just stared at him for a long moment.

“Do me a favour, nephew. Don’t venture out too much in the coming days. I hear a bitch in heat’s in town for a visit. It would be best for both of us to steer clear lest we forget our manners.”

Derek stiffened at the words, gritting his teeth, but he nodded in both thanks and agreement, and Peter nodded back once before he _finally_  left his office.

Erica watched him leave, then stood to come and lean in the doorway, watching Derek as he turned to his computer so he could type out the email he’d been thinking about when Peter had dropped in. He didn’t want to dwell on his uncle’s parting words, and he knew Erica wouldn’t bring them up.

She knew better.

“It’s hilarious that he’s still trying to get you laid.”

“Why is everyone so obsessed with my sex life?” Derek asked grumpily, the wording in his email far less kind than he’d been planning since he was now in a bad mood from getting yelled at by a branch manager, people questioning his sex life, _and_  a rapist bitch being in town. The only upside was he knew she usually only stayed for five or six days, so she’d be gone quickly.

“Because you’re _so_  much easier to deal with when you’re getting laid.” Erica came further into the office and moved around the desk, leaning back against it while watching Derek type. “Still doing your Friday thing?”

“Yes,” he said coldly.

“Same guy?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. He must be good if you’re not bored of him.” She let out a small sigh, staring at the ceiling, as if in thought. “I remember Senior year of high school. You went through as many guys as I did shoes in a month. I still can’t believe you found so many people to fuck, I swear you single-handedly turned the whole male population gay in your last year there. Thank God you stayed away from the freshmen, you might’ve gotten expelled.”

“Or arrested. Are you here for a reason, or are you trying to get fired for a third time?” he asked, turning to her, annoyed.

“You’re not allowed to fire me anymore, remember? I report to Peter now.” She winked at him and he scowled. “Come on, sourpuss.” She reached out to pinch his cheek and he slapped her hand away quite violently, annoyed and extremely stressed. “Come over tonight. You, me and Boyd. Isaac can come too, if he’s free. You need to relax a little, you’ve been working too hard, and your miracle worker on Fridays can only do so much with his mouth. We can watch a movie and Boyd can make that pasta bake you like.”

“If I agree, will you stop talking about my sex life?”

“For today, at least,” she promised with a triumphant smile.

“Fine, we can do dinner. Now get back to work, I have angry people to appease.”

Erica leaned over to kiss his temple and he grunted in response, the woman sliding off the end of his desk and returning to her own workstation.

He paused in his typing once she was gone and let out a soft sigh. It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_  to get laid, because every now and then, he did. He _really_  did. He just lacked the energy to go through the whole process of meeting someone, getting to know them, finding out if they were compatible, wooing them, and so on and so forth.

It was so much _work_.

And on top of that, he had issues. He didn’t trust anyone because the last time he’d trusted someone, that had blown up in his face and was the main reason he’s turned into a man-whore his final year of high school. People were liars and manipulative, and he’d let himself get caught up in that bullshit once, he wasn’t willing to let himself get tricked into that shit a second time.

But he _did_  sometimes want to get off without having to work at picking someone up. Which was why he’d kind of started thinking about Spark in a more... _sexual_  way. Spark was funny, and interesting, and they seemed to _work_  together. He liked him, a lot, and while he knew he had no idea who Spark was in real life, he sometimes wondered what he would sound like if he was trying to get Derek off.

The only reason he hadn’t asked was because after _months_  of this kind-of-friendship they had going on, he felt guilty even _thinking_  it. Spark had often spoken about how unpleasant the job could be. He never said anything distasteful, and he never suggested the people who called in were scum, because he obviously didn’t feel that way. He just admitted that it got a little disheartening sometimes hearing people moaning and groaning over the line like they were when no one seemed to like him outside his job.

It also couldn’t be fun sitting there having to make sure he said the right thing to get someone off. It was probably stressful when a lot of time passed and the person on the other end was still working for it. Derek didn’t know if they had some kind of policy about that. ‘If you don’t cum, you don’t pay’ or something. He didn’t think so, he didn’t remember reading anything like that when he’d been reading all the paperwork for an account.

Then again, he also didn’t ever check their advertising. He knew there were some in the town paper, but given he didn’t call to get his jollies off, he hadn’t bothered to pay attention to them.

Realizing Erica had noticed him stop typing, he focussed back on the task at hand and pushed Spark aside for now. He had four days before he would get to speak to him again, and Derek felt like he was already counting down the hours, _especially_  considering the bad news he’d just gotten.

That probably wasn’t a good thing.

* * *

Stiles pushed through the door leading into the small Starbucks in town, looking around and grinning before heading further into the establishment, taking a seat across from Tara who was nursing a tea, holding the cup with both hands. He debated whether or not to get himself a drink, but he was meeting his dad for dinner and didn’t want to be late.

Still, they had a new hot beverage for the winter and Stiles was really tempted by it. It was some kind of peppermint white hot chocolate thing that he’d seen advertised around town, and he really _did_  like peppermint, and who didn’t like hot chocolate, and it was cold outside, and—

“Stiles?”

He turned back to Tara, giving her his full attention and laughed slightly. “Sorry, debating a drink, but I’m going to see dad in a bit so I better not. What’s up? Everything okay?”

Tara was looking down into her tea, seeming uncomfortable. She let out a small sigh before looking at him again. “I think we need to talk to your father.”

“Nope.” He didn’t know why she was bringing up his dad, but the answer was always and forever going to be no. His dad _could not know_ he was one of the reasons people were getting off on a nightly basis, that was not something he wanted him to know. Just—no.

“Stiles, he called again.”

He frowned, about to ask who, when it clicked. “Creepy stalker man?”

“I told him I would have his call traced if he called again, but—I don’t know who he is, he doesn’t seem concerned about it. He might be someone well off in town. He might be one of the Hales, for all we know. He called after you’d left and asked to speak to you. Braeden patched him through to me instead.” She reached out one hand, gripping one of his tightly. “Stiles, I’m _worried_  about you. He’s getting a little bit out of control. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“He doesn’t know who I am,” Stiles argued.

“We don’t know that.” Those words were scary but he made sure not to react. There was no way this person knew who he was. “If he’s as well off as I’m assuming he is, he _could_  know who you are. I just—I’m worried. If something happened to you, I would never forgive myself. And your _father_  would never forgive me.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Stiles insisted. “I’m just a sultry voice on the other end of a phone line.” He waggled his eyebrows but Tara gave him an annoyed look.

“Stiles, this isn’t something to joke about. I want to involve your father. I want to at least _know_  who this person is.”

“If you talk to my dad, he’s gonna find out I’m working there. I thought our deal was I could only work there if he _didn’t_  find out.” He raised his eyebrows, emphasizing his point.

“We don’t have to tell him it’s you. I just need it known that one of my staff is being harassed. I don’t want to wake up one day to your father hysterical over your disappearance.”

“No one would kidnap me,” Stiles insisted, waving one hand dismissively.

He could tell Tara was getting mad at him for not taking this seriously, but realistically, from where Stiles was sitting, there was nothing to take seriously! There was an old dude who called regularly and harassed him. He was gross and inappropriate, but no more than anyone else. The only difference between him and others was that he kept asking prying questions, wanted to meet in real life, and had extremely disturbing kinks. Hardly anything to get the police involved with, in his opinion. The guy could comment on things he’d like to do to Stiles all he wanted, he didn’t know who Stiles was, so it wasn’t like he was in any danger. It was also why he hadn’t told Tara the _full_  truth, because he knew this was just going to get out of hand. He didn’t like hearing the things the guy said, but he just told Tara to take his line when the guy got creepy, no big deal.  
He could tell Tara wouldn’t drop it, though, so he just sighed explosively and promised her he’d talk to his dad about how she had a problem. They would have to keep him out of it for as long as possible, and with any luck, everything would resolve itself on its own. Old dude would just get bored.

It didn’t really help that they likely wouldn’t be able to do anything. No crime had been committed, so it wasn’t like his dad could trace the call without just cause. But Stiles supposed Tara mostly just wanted it on file that one of her employees was being harassed by someone who seemed to have money.

Man Stiles wouldn’t mind if it was a Hale, though. Both of them were fucking fine as shit.

He didn’t know much about the Hales other than what he’d heard in the news and whatnot. Everyone knew about the tragedy that had occurred back when Stiles had been a wee little lad—and adorable, to boot.

Peter and his nephew Derek had been out of town for a Lacrosse game. Derek was captain of the team or something and Peter had been one of the chaperones for the rowdy boys on the away game. Apparently Derek had been having disciplinary problems the last few months leading up to the game, and his family thought it best for Peter to go with him.

It was quite far, so they were going to be doing an overnight, and while the two of them had been away, there was a fire in the Hale house. It had happened in the middle of the night, and the coroner was quite certain everyone had passed away from smoke inhalation long before the fire had reached any of the bodies.

A small consolation, that. No one had died burned alive, which was a plus, because Stiles didn’t want to imagine that.

Still, it hadn’t been a fun call for his dad. He remembered him sitting in his study with his head in his hands, phone at his elbow, trying to figure out how to call Peter to tell him he had to come home _now_  because their whole family had just died.

Stiles didn’t know how the Hales had managed to remain in Beacon Hills after that. Even though it had been an accident, Stiles couldn’t imagine staying after an entire family passed away. He’d only lost his mother, and he wanted to move away. Everything about the town _hurt_  because it reminded him of her, so he couldn’t imagine how Peter and Derek had stuck around.

They were good people, as far as he knew. Kind, honest, gave back to the community. They donated to the sheriff’s department a lot, which Stiles appreciated, because the men and women who worked there really needed support sometimes.

He’d heard that one year their profits had been so good they’d given their entire back office staff four-digit bonuses. Normally the higher ups got larger chunks of money, but they’d actually split it evenly throughout their firm.

They always had events for the staff, like ice-cream days and barbecues and various pizza lunches. They treated everyone exceptionally kindly, and made sure they were happy. To date, no one had ever complained about working for the firm, and most people who quit did so on good terms, either due to moving or another opportunity coming up or just because it didn’t work for them anymore.

Stiles had tried working for them, but as with everywhere else, his hours were less than favourable. The interviewer had been really nice about it, though, and had told him he was more than welcome to re-apply after he was done school because she’d been ready to give him a job on the spot if not for his hours. That was nice, but not exactly what he needed right then.

“Stiles.”

He looked over at Tara, and realized he’d gotten distracted thinking about the Hales and how damn fine they both were. Shit, even Peter who was at _least_  fifteen years older than him was someone he wouldn’t mind getting into bed with. Why were rich people always so fucking hot? It wasn’t fair.

“Sorry. Yeah, yes. I’ll talk to dad. I’ll keep my name out of it, but I’ll talk to him.”

“Thank you.” She sighed and took a sip of her tea, then motioned for him to leave. “Away with you. I see enough of you at work, I don’t need to see you outside of work, too.”

“Rude. I’m _delightful_  to be around.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” She winked at him, then waved when he stood and headed out of the Starbucks. He waved back before disappearing through the door and going to his Jeep.

He thought about her concerns on his way to the station, wondering how much he should _really_  worry. It didn’t matter who it was—Hale, or not—he still didn’t believe he was in any danger. It wasn’t like anyone would risk taking the sheriff’s son for a night on the town without his consent. If his creepy creeper _did_  know who he was, then he _knew_  he was the sheriff’s son. Fuck, _everyone_  knew Stiles was the sheriff’s son. Every time his father got voted back in as sheriff, Stiles had to sit beside him on the stage and try not to fidget and look bored.

Barring the Hales, Stiles felt like his dad—and by association, him—was the most well-known person in town. Sure, people knew the mayor and her family, and there was also the principal and whatnot, but the highest rank in the chain for being known by the town really started at the Hales and moved down in that order. The Hales, his dad and him, the mayor and her family, the high school principal. And the Argents, he supposed. They used to be more well-known, but they’d been lying low the past few years, despite being filthy rich. They were the next closest rivals financially to the Hales.

But either way, anyone stupid enough to try something with him was just looking to get arrested and/or murdered. His dad was extremely protective at times, and he honestly wouldn’t put it past him to murder someone to keep him safe and hide the evidence. Parents were like that, or so he’d heard. He tried not to dwell on his father’s actions to protect him, it worried him sometimes to think of things he didn’t know his dad had done for him.

When he reached the station, he parked in an empty spot in the visitor’s area and climbed out, waving to a few deputies who were heading for their cars and then climbing the front steps to the station two at a time. When he pushed through the doors, he smiled at Valerie Clark, who was manning the front desk and currently on the phone. She offered him a smile in return and motioned towards his dad’s office, denoting he was free and Stiles could go right in. He nodded in thanks, then gave her two thumbs-up and mouthed, “You’re doing great.”

She rolled her eyes and flipped him off. Stiles just laughed and headed for his dad’s office, knocking on the doorframe since it was open, and leaning in. His dad was scowling down at some papers, and only briefly glanced up to see who was there.

“Is it time already?” he grunted, shuffling a page under another one and leaning back in his chair, rubbing at his face beneath his glasses before pulling them off and tossing them onto his desk.

“‘Fraid so, pops. Time for you to put the lawmaking on hold and be a dad.”

“Cute,” the man said, giving him a look.

Stiles hesitated, and was about to do it later, but the action was noticed and his dad had his sheriff face on instantly. He hated it when he did that, it was kind of creepy.

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened.” Stiles rolled his eyes and stepped into the office, shutting the door for good measure. “Why is it every time I hesitate you think something happened?”

“Because the last time you hesitated to tell me something, you stole a police van and kidnapped Jackson Whittemore,” he reminded him.

“Well that depends on how you define kidnapping,” Stiles insisted, pointing a finger at his father while taking a seat across from him.

“I define it as taking someone without their consent and holding them against their will, how do you define it?”

Stiles paused for a second, then said, “A child lying down on a blanket and getting their afternoon sleep on.”

His dad didn’t look impressed with that definition but Stiles just shrugged. That had been a senior prank, it was just a joke, and no one got hurt. Well, except Stiles, because he’d been grounded until graduation, but really, that had been years ago, his dad needed to let that go.

“I saw Tara just now.”

“Oh yeah? How’s she doing?” His lips turned down slightly when he asked, “Business still booming?”

“Yes, dad. Far as I know, Beacon Hills is still a cesspool of grossness and people call for some happy times. Not the point.” He leaned forward in his seat, folding his hands together on the desk. “Apparently there’s a dude who keeps calling in and harassing one of her employees. He’s been getting aggressive with her staff and the party he’s been calling. He keeps asking for a meetup in real life and describing what he’d like to do to them. Sounds like a real piece of work. She’s concerned he might know who her employee actually is and worries about their safety.” Stiles shrugged. “She knows as well as I do that you can’t do anything without cause, but she wanted me to ask anyway. What options are there?”

His dad sighed, crossing his arms and thinking about it, but his answer was predictable, because both Stiles and Tara knew the law. “We can open a file for it, but if he hasn’t actually threatened harm or done anything, we don’t have much to go on.” Stiles chose not to elaborate on that and waited for his dad to finish his thought. “I can’t go after someone because he’s being inappropriate with one of her staff, there would have to be valid threats to the person’s safety.”

Stiles nodded, having figured as much, and wisely chose not to comment on the safety bit. No need to worry anyone, especially if his dad and Tara spoke and additional details came out of Stiles’ mouth that Tara didn’t know.

He tapped his fingers on the desk, pursing his lips. “And uh, what would you say if it was me?”

The sheriff gave him a look. “I’d do it in a heartbeat if I thought someone was trying to hurt my son, but it’s _not_  you, because you wouldn’t work somewhere like that without telling me, would you?”

“Nope,” Stiles agreed immediately. “Nope, I sure wouldn’t. Mm mm.” He shook his head. “Never. You would definitely be on my list of people who would definitely, absolutely know if I worked somewhere like that.”

Now his dad looked suspicious and damn him for being such an easy read.

Slapping his hands in a random beat on the desk, Stiles stood and motioned over his shoulder. “We should,” he clicked his tongue, twisting slightly and pointing both index fingers around one side and back towards the door. “Food. Dinner. Yum yum.”

“Where is it you work again?” his dad asked.

“Hale & Hale Financial Group, dad. You know this.”

“Mm hm. And if I called them up right now, they’d confirm that?”

Stiles let out an affronted noise, going for insulted. “ _Yes_ , dad. They would confirm it. Rude. I work the graveyard shift because of the foreign markets. Regular hours are for the North American markets, and night hours are for the Japanese stock exchange, and the German stock exchange, and the other foreign stock exchanges that we have. I can’t believe you don’t trust me.” He clapped one hand to his chest. “It hurts me, dad. Right here. Right here, in my teeny, tiny little heart.”

“At least you won’t be prone to heart attacks like I am if it’s so small,” his dad grunted, getting to his feet with a groan. “I can’t wait for you to have kids. You’ll realize how much trouble they are.”

“Love you too, dad,” Stiles said dryly, but the older man smiled while walking around his desk and gripped the back of Stiles’ neck with one hand, kissing his temple.

Stiles scowled, because he was twenty-five, and he didn’t need his dad being all sappy like this, but he also secretly loved it because his dad was awesome. He didn’t understand people who didn’t like their families, though he knew there had to be a line somewhere.

After all, his best friend Scott McCall hated his dad with a hot, fiery, burning passion, and while Stiles understood why—and also hated him, though mostly because he loved Mrs. McCall—he still couldn’t imagine hating a family member himself. Everyone’s time was so short and precious, he couldn’t imagine spending time hating or being angry at someone who might not be there tomorrow.

Not to say Stiles never got mad at people, but he liked to think he could be forgiving to a degree, especially if someone just made a mistake and apologized for it. If they were honestly, _truly_  sorry, then it was best to appreciate them while they were still around.

“Where are we eating tonight?” his dad asked while they walked for the exit, one hand still gripping the back of Stiles’ neck in a comforting way. “Burgers?”

“Not on your life, pops, but nice try.”

“Worth a shot.”

Stiles pushed aside thoughts of his creepy stalker and knew that everything would be fine.

* * *

Derek normally waited until he got home to call Spark. It was something he’d perfected over the past few months, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to park in the underground garage if he didn’t, and he’d be stuck in his car waiting for the half hour to be up.

He didn’t want that. While his car was comfortable, and he didn’t mind spending time in it, he preferred being in the comfort of his own home while he spoke to Spark, liking the mellow and calm atmosphere and the comfort of his couch and sweats and Spark’s voice in the air. He loved that, he really did.

But today had been a bad day. Today had been a fucking _horrible_  day.

He’d spent a majority of it in meetings with various higher ups and Peter, talking about how they would need to get rid of that one VP who was causing problems in Credit. Legal, of course, was up in arms because they’d never had to fire anyone for their behaviour before. For theft and insider trading, yes, but never for their behaviour, and they kept insisting it was a risk to the firm.

The VP could come back and sue, it could cause problems for their Board of Directors, it would sully their name in the industry, there might be an investigation by the SEC, etc, etc. Overall though, they had to think of the well-being of their staff. If one person was making thirty others miserable, it was a toxic environment and he didn’t want anyone to suffer through that. He wanted to ensure everyone came to work happy, and right now, they didn’t.

One of the girls who worked under the VP had shown up at the department head’s office crying. The department head had marched into Derek’s office with the crying girl and insisted something needed to be done.

And so, they were now in full swing trying to get this person fired with cause, and Derek hated it. He hated people arguing over it. He hated people being upset coming to work. He hated having to get rid of someone for something like their fucking _behaviour_ , but he knew he had to do it. He knew he had a choice to make, and between one person who’d been there for only two years, and thirty who were miserable and had stuck around for a long time, some even since the inception of the company, he had to do it.

But now he was angry. He was annoyed. He was _stressed_  and _worried_  and just so fucking _done_  with today. He needed Spark. He knew he was still in the car, he knew he’d be home soon and could call him then, but he didn’t fucking care.

He couldn’t wait that long.

Connecting his phone to the car’s bluetooth, he pulled up the contact, eyes half on his phone and half on the road. It rang twice before the receptionist answered in her usual sultry voice.

_“Hello. Welcome to Magical Encounters. How may we serve you?”_

“I need to talk to Spark,” he said. “I’m early, I don’t care, I’ll hold.”

There was a slight pause on the other end. _“One moment, Derek. I’ll patch you through.”_

“Thank you.”

He didn’t know why he’d thanked her, but probably because it was clear he was in a bad mood, and instead of being a bitch about it like she sometimes was, the receptionist had just let it go and said she’d get him who he needed.

The elevator music played with the interspersed comments about his physique. He wondered if they had two different hold musics, one for men, and one for women, because the voice was always commenting on his _huge cock_ and his _toned pectorals_ and whatnot. He wondered if they’d ever accidentally put the wrong hold music on.

Maybe he’d ask one day, but not today. Today he just needed to speak to Spark.

The elevator music lasted only a minute today, which he was thankful for. Spark picked up soon afterwards, sounding concerned.

_“Derek? What’s up, is everything okay?”_

It felt like every muscle in his body relaxed at the sound of that voice. He almost closed his eyes in relief at hearing it, but that would be a bad idea, since he was still driving and the light ahead had turned red. The last thing he wanted was for Spark to hear him get into an accident.

“Hey,” he said, voice softening ever so slightly. It was insane someone he’d never met could make him feel so relaxed and at ease. “How are you?”

 _“Fine,”_ Spark said slowly, still sounding concerned. _“How are you? What’s going on? Trixie said you sounded off. And are you driving right now?”_

“Yeah. I couldn’t wait to get home.” He realized how fucking creepy that sounded and winced. “I just mean you’re good to calm me down. You make things seem less... terrible.”

 _“Bad day?”_ Spark asked sympathetically, voice softening.

“The worst. I need to fire someone. It’s never easy having to do something like that.”

_“I’m sorry. Can I help?”_

“Talking is enough for me,” Derek admitted. “I like hearing your voice.”

 _“Careful, Derek. I might think you have a crush on me,”_ Spark teased.

Derek hated that it wasn’t really a tease. Because he _might_  kind of sort of have a crush on him. Maybe? No, he was pretty sure he did. That was a problem.

But future Derek’s problem. Current Derek just needed to unwind.

“Shut up and talk to me.”

Spark laughed, and it made Derek’s muscles relax even more. God, even just his voice was enough to calm him down. Derek wished their relationship wasn’t what it was. He knew it could never be anything more, but he wished they’d met under different circumstances.

 _“Well, which is it? Shut up, or talk to you? Or did you need a little bit of relief?”_ Spark’s voice lowered and it shot straight to Derek’s groin. _“Are you in need of some other services, Derek?”_

“Don’t do that,” Derek snapped. He hadn’t meant for it to come out so hostile, but Spark didn’t often use that voice with him. His ‘service’ voice. The one he used to get people off. When Derek was having a normal day, he didn’t mind it so much, but today? No, today he felt it go straight to his dick and he did _not_  want to do that to Spark. He didn’t.

He fucking _didn’t_!

 _“Sorry, sorry,”_ Spark said quickly. _“Yeesh, it **was**  a bad day, huh? Okay, no problem, let’s make you happy again. As happy as a grumpy motherfucker like you **can**  be, anyway.”_ Spark was clearly smirking, and Derek turned into the lot for his apartment. He went to park in the visitor’s lot and turned off the engine, but didn’t do anything else. If he opened the car door, the call would drop, so as long as he stayed where he was, he would be fine.

“Tell me about your day. How was it? What did you do?”

_“School. Like always. Hung out with my dad a bit before heading to work. Nothing special. Got some more of my screenplay done, though. You’ll be happy to know Dylan doesn’t get murdered.”_

“Tell me about it,” Derek said, reclining the seat slightly and getting comfortable, staring at his phone.

He listened to Spark’s voice come from all sides, realizing he might have to rethink the no-car rule since it was really nice having his voice all around him. It was so jovial and excited, full of life and compassionate. Derek didn’t know how he’d ever hated hearing this voice when all of this had started.

He knew he was angry and bitter at the beginning, so that hadn’t helped, but he was just glad he had someone, now. Not to say his friends weren’t great, but he was _Derek Hale_ with them. To Spark, he was just... he was _Derek_.

Spark didn’t care who he was or what he did for a living. He didn’t care what he looked like, how much money he had, nothing. He just liked talking to him, and that was why Derek was kind of sort of starting to crush on him maybe a little bit.

Denial wasn’t just a river in Egypt.

He also had no idea who Spark was, what he looked like, anything. He had no idea about any of that stuff. All he knew was that Spark was twenty-five and in school, that was it. He didn’t really care, either. He didn’t care about anything that pertained to Spark other than the fact that he liked him.

Sitting in the car and listening to him talk about how Dylan was being saved from the evil Alpha Werewolf by his eventual love-interest Tyler was really the highlight of his evening, at this point. He felt every bad thing that had happened that day slowly melt away, like it was nothing. It just rolled right off him and he closed his eyes, enjoying the way Spark’s voice just slid across his skin. It was somewhat alarming to realize even his regular voice was turning him on, but he pushed those thoughts aside viciously. He was just horny—for once—and he’d had a bad day, nothing to drag Spark into.

Spark hated his job, he hated getting people off, and Derek knew how much these easy conversations meant to him. He wasn’t going to do that to him. He never _wanted_  to be that guy. He liked what they had, he couldn’t break that trust.

 _“You still awake over there?”_ Spark asked after a long silence on Derek’s end.

“Mm,” he agreed, eyes still closed while he stayed reclined in his seat. “Just listening.”

_“I think it’s been over half an hour.”_

“That’s fine,” Derek insisted. “The people keeping track of my calls know I had a shitty day. They probably figure it’s taking me longer to get there today.”

_“Dude, you realize it’s fucking gnarly that someone is keeping track of your sexual endeavours, right? Like... how is it any of their business?”_

“They’re worried about me. They insist I need to get laid to be happy. I beg to differ. I’m happy just talking to you every Friday.”

 _“Bitch, don’t make me blush,”_ Spark insisted teasingly, but Derek found some satisfaction in the way his voice cracked a little. He was willing to bet Spark was embarrassingly happy to hear that.

They were both silent for a few seconds, Spark shuffling some papers on the other end and muttering to himself. He’d caught up on as far as his script had gone, so he was probably going to get distracted if Derek didn’t keep his attention.

“Can I ask you something without it being weird?”

_“Sure, what’s up?”_

Derek hesitated, but instead of asking what he’d originally been intending, he went for something else he’d wondered about. “What makes your creeper stalker guy a creepy stalker?”

 _“What do you mean?”_ Spark asked, frown in his voice.

“I just—” Derek cut himself off, frustrated, then bulled on. “Sometimes I want to call you more often. Today worked out because it was Friday, but sometimes when I have a bad day, I just... you really help me. You make things more tolerable. I want to talk to you more often, but I always worry how that would seem to you. I don’t want you to think I’m becoming a creeper.”

When Spark responded, his voice was so soft that it made Derek melt and Jesus _Christ_ , he legitimately had a crush, this was so bad.

 _“You wouldn’t turn into that. You don’t even call me for anything sexual, so you’re the last person to worry about.”_ He sighed and shifted in his chair, the creaking sound of leather coming through the line. _“The other guy is just... intense. He calls to get himself off, but he always asks inappropriate questions for this kind of thing. I’m used to people asking what I’m wearing, if I’m touching myself, all that stuff. That’s normal, it’s actually expected. But he asks for more, like what I look like, how I would sound if he was choking me, how old I am, where I went to school. He asks if we can meet in person, says he’ll pay me for just ten minutes of my mouth around his cock for real. It’s—I get it, I mean, it’s not like I get the height of society when I get these calls, but it’s creepy.”_ Spark paused for a second, letting out a slow breath. _“When he called last time, he was using a voice modulator. No one knew it was him until he started being all weird. Said he’d love to watch me gasp for air while sliding into me, cut me up and paint my skin with blood. That kind of sick shit. The second he started up with that, I knew it was him and my manager took the line. We actually spoke to the cops about it, but there’s nothing that can be done. He hasn’t **technically**  threatened to hurt me, he just says things that are unpleasant to hear. I mean, suffocation is a kink, and bloodplay is a kink. It’s just not something you’re meant to talk about with us. We have limits, you stick to the rules or you don’t call us.”_

Derek felt his blood boiling. He understood, like Spark, that some people had weird kinks. Suffocation and bloodplay, like he’d said. But there were lines that needed to be drawn. Saying things like that to someone on the other end of the phone, who knew nothing about you, and then asking to meet in person was so far over the line Derek wanted to fucking find this person and throw them in a cell.

“You should speak to the sheriff,” Derek said. “He’s a good man. There might not be cause, but it would be enough for him to be concerned, at least. He’d look into it.”

Derek didn’t know the sheriff well, but he’d had some dealings with him in the past because of things that had occurred. He remembered his kindness back when his family had died. The sheriff had stayed with him the entire time Peter had been dealing with the loss of their family, even though he had his own son at home to care for. He hadn’t wanted Derek to be alone, and had sat beside him for hours trying to make him feel better.

He was also one of the only people who believed Derek about what had happened to him, which not many people did. Derek respected him a great deal for that. The man had tried so hard to help him back then, but there were limits to what an honest man of the law could do. Derek had never forgotten his kindness.

He was a good man, and Derek voted for him each and every year his position was up for re-election. He and Peter also donated a lot of money to the sheriff’s department because their town had a lot of good cops, and they deserved to be rewarded for their hard work.

 _“I know,”_ Spark said softly. Almost endearingly. Maybe he thought it was nice that Derek appreciated the sheriff so much. _“He’s a good guy, but he can’t do much. Honestly, I haven’t...”_ Spark let out a hum, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to admit it.

“Haven’t what?” Derek prompted, an edge in his tone. “Spark.”

 _“I might not have really told anyone but you how bad it’s been getting,”_ he said in a rush. _“It’s just, I don’t want anyone to worry, and it’s not a big deal, and it’s not like the guy **knows**  who I am, he can’t **find**  me or anything!”_

Derek felt angry all over again. “Are you fucking stupid?! Spark, if this guy has money, he can find you in an _instant_!” Derek knew he could, because if he really wanted to, _Derek_  himself could! “You need to be honest! This is dangerous!”

 _“Everyone keeps saying that, but it’s really not,”_ Spark argued, an edge in his own tone. _“The guy’s not stupid, he isn’t going to try anything. No one would risk their freedom to come after someone on the other end of the phone, that’s stupid.”_

“There are some fucked up people in this world, Spark,” Derek snapped. “Tell the cops, or at _least_ your boss! Don’t leave this with me, I don’t _know_ you! I can’t _help_  you if something happens! Jesus _Christ_ , Spark!” Derek rubbed at his face with both hands. “Shit. Now if I open the paper and read about someone missing, I’m going to panic and think it’s you!”

 _“I’m not gonna go missing,”_ Spark insisted, the eye roll clear as if it had made a noise itself. _“Everyone’s taking this a little too seriously. I promise, I’m fine. You will call me next Friday, and I will be here. I **promise**. Calm down, you’re getting all worked up again and I’m gonna think I really **do**  need to get you off, at this rate.”_

“Not funny.”

 _“I know, I don’t even know if you like guys.”_ There was a teasing note in his voice, and then he lowered it, returning to his ‘service’ voice. _“ **Do**  you like guys, Derek? Does my voice turn you on?”_

And that went _straight_  to his groin, Jesus fucking shit! “You’re not cute, and I need to go. We’ve been on the phone for almost fifty minutes, and even my libido isn’t that good.”

 _“Shame,”_ Spark said, still using that same voice. _“Things were just about to get interesting.”_

Fucking hell, he was going to _murder_  him. “Goodbye, Spark. I’ll talk to you next Friday.”

_“Mm, can’t wait. Talk to you soon.”_

Derek hung up on him, feeling hot all over, and forced himself to take a few slow, deep breaths. His hands were clenched on his thighs, but he was half-hard in his pants, and he really didn’t need that right now. But _fuck_  if Spark didn’t know what he was doing. He probably thought Derek was straight. He probably had _no idea_ what he was doing to him and just having a laugh.

Letting out a slow breath and getting himself back under control, Derek climbed out of the car and grabbed his coat and briefcase, along with his phone. If nothing else, at least he knew he could call Spark any time in the week, if need be. He had that to look forward to, which was good.

Heading towards the building, he smiled slightly to himself, hand tightening around his phone.

He was glad he had Spark. And he would murder anyone who tried to hurt him.

* * *

Stiles was fucking exhausted. Not an uncommon thing for him, considering his work hours, but he felt more exhausted than usual. He supposed it was because it was Wednesday and he’d had class that morning, work, and now he had to hurry home since he had class again in the morning.

The only solace he had was that they were all online, which meant he could literally roll out of bed five minutes before class started. He had to give himself at _least_  five minutes, because his computer had messed up once and he’d been late to class. It counted as an “absence” since the professor couldn’t see who joined after class started, only who was already present. Stiles hadn’t made that mistake again.

He turned into the lot his Jeep was parked in, wandering slowly towards it while pulling his keys from his pocket, and paused when he was only a few feet away.

“No. Oh come on, no, no!” He rushed forward and bent down, poking at his front tire.

It was flat. So was his back tire.

Someone had literally fucking slashed his tires, like assholes.

“Really? Come on, man.” He sighed, shaking his head. Everyone knew this was _his_  car, it kind of stuck out. Whoever had done this was purposefully being a dick. Probably someone Stiles had pissed off recently. They’d probably been driving by and had seen his Jeep alone in a dark lot and figured what better way to repay old Stiles Stilinski for his smart mouth than to fucking ruin his night.

There was money he barely had right down the drain.

“Great.” He stood and started to pull out his phone so he could call his dad when he jumped, someone speaking behind him.

“Car trouble?”

He whipped around, seeing an older gentleman heading in his direction, hands in his pockets. He didn’t know where he’d come from, the lot was empty, but there were some cars parked out on the street so maybe he’d been passing by.

“Just a flat, nothing I can’t handle,” Stiles said, offering him a tight smile and looking back down at his phone.

“You’re Stiles, right?”

Stiles looked up at him slowly, alarm bells going off. “Do I know you?”

“You probably don’t remember me.” The man laughed, moving forward a little further and holding out one hand. “Gerard Argent.”

“Right.” Stiles thought he’d recognized him, but only vaguely. His voice was familiar, though, so that probably explained it. “Allison’s grandfather, right?”

Allison Argent was one of Scott’s many girlfriends in high school. She was all right, she’d always been nice to Stiles, but she’d moved away for university and hadn’t come back. Her dad still lived in town, but Stiles had only met her grandfather once or twice when he’d visited. Apparently he was sick or something and had moved back to town to live with Allison’s father Chris a few years back.

“That’s right. It’s been a while.” He still had his hand out, and despite feeling a little uncomfortable, Stiles reached out and shook it. Gerard held on a bit longer than Stiles felt was necessary, but he eventually let go and Stiles just figured he was being stupid. His conversation with Derek on Friday was still floating around in his brain, but there was nothing dangerous about this tottery old man. Stiles could probably blow on him and he’d fall over.

He was just being overly paranoid. Stupid Tara. Stupid Derek. They were turning him into a weenie.

Gerard moved a bit closer and Stiles inched away towards the side so he wasn’t trapped between the man and his Jeep. Even if the guy meant no harm, Stiles was still going to be cautious. It was the middle of the night, after all.

Gerard didn’t seem to notice Stiles’ movements, crouching in front of one of the wheels and humming.

“Looks pretty bad. Don’t think you’re gonna get far on this. You got a spare?”

“Just one,” Stiles confirmed. “It’s okay, I can fix it up tomorrow.”

“You need a ride home?”

“Thanks, but I’m good. My dad’s on his way.” He waved his phone slightly towards the road.

“That right?” Gerard asked, still crouched. He was looking up at Stiles with an uncomfortable expression that was making his gut twist.

The alarms were sounding just _that_  bit louder in his head.

“Yup,” he said, moving back another step. “Thanks though. Wouldn’t want to waste your time.”

“It’s no trouble, Stiles.” Gerard stood, offering him another kind smile. There was something malicious about it that Stiles couldn’t quite place. “Your dad’s a busy man. Best you not disturb him for no reason. Come on, I’m just across the street.”

“I think it’d be best if I didn’t wander off with my dad coming,” Stiles argued, taking another slow step back when Gerard took one forward. Seriously, _was_  he paranoid or was this guy giving off massive creep-factor vibes?! Now he honestly couldn’t tell if it was all in his head or not. “Thank you. Real nice.”

Gerard watched him for a moment longer, then let out a small laugh, rubbing at his mouth with one hand. “You didn’t call your dad, Stiles.”

Okay, definitely not his imagination. He felt all the hairs on his body rise on end and took another slow step back. He had a tire iron in the trunk, he could probably get to it before anything happened.

“Look man, I’m not sure what’s happening right now, but I think you need to walk away.”

Gerard was coming another step closer and Stiles was literally ready to go all fucking Nathan Drake on his ass when a horn blared from the road and both he and the old man jumped.

Stiles looked past Gerard, who had also turned, and saw a sleek black Mercedes stopped on the road right beside the entrance to the lot. A window rolled down, and Peter Hale smiled out at them.

“Everything all right over there?”

“Everything’s fine, Peter,” Gerard said coldly, a forced smile on his face. “Nice car. Is it new?”

“It is,” Peter agreed. “The other one was getting a little old.” His eyes shifted past Gerard to focus on Stiles. He didn’t know what his expression looked like, but evidently something concerning because Peter’s lips pinched slightly. “Car trouble?”

“Just a flat,” Stiles said. “My dad’s on his way.”

“Sheriff, right? You’re the sheriff’s kid?”

“Yes sir.”

“Hm. Well, I’ve got nowhere to be.” Peter turned away for a second and shifted, probably putting his car into park. His hazzard lights came on a second later, then he climbed out of the car, leaving the engine running, and slammed the door. “I think we should wait for your dad together. It’s late, lots of crazy people out here at this hour. Isn’t that right, Gerard?”

“I’m sure just one of us waiting with him is fine,” Gerard said harshly.

“The more the merrier, I say,” Peter insisted, unperturbed by the rudeness. He moved forward and offered a kind smile to the old man, then turned to Stiles’ Jeep. He let out a slow whistle, bending down similarly to Gerard earlier. “That’s quite the flat. And two of them. Coincidental. Thank goodness you were here, Gerard, otherwise poor Stilinski would’ve been all alone in a less reputable part of town in the dark in the middle of the night. No telling what might’ve happened to him.”

Stiles didn’t know what their relationship was, but it was clear Peter Hale and Gerard Argent had some beef. Gerard was glaring at Peter hard enough that Stiles thought he might _actually_  set him on fire.

“Good thing you came by,” Gerard said coldly. “I actually had somewhere I needed to be. You can wait for his father with him.” He looked back over at Stiles. “Until next time.”

Stiles had no idea what to say to that, so he said nothing. He just forced an awkward smile, and then watched Gerard give Peter another dirty look before he turned and made his way back towards the road.

Peter was still crouched in front of the Jeep, but Stiles could tell he wasn’t looking at the wheel anymore. His eyes were shifted to one side and his head was tilted slightly, like he was listening to Gerard walk away.

Stiles watched the old man cross the road and climb into one of the parked cars. It started up, and then drove away, Peter only turning to double-check when he was sure Gerard was gone. He let out a small grunt, putting his hands on his knees so he could get back to his feet, and turned to give Stiles a once-over.

“You all right?”

“I’m fine,” Stiles insisted, despite being very _not_ fine because holy shit _what_ was going on?

“Hm. Did you actually call your dad?”

“Yes,” Stiles said immediately, because he didn’t want _another_ creepy dude hanging around him, no matter _how_  attractive he was.

Peter clearly didn’t believe him, because he gave him a look, then waved at him impatiently. “Call your dad. Have him send someone. I’ll wait.”

He watched Peter move a few steps before he turned and leaned back against the Jeep, hands in his pockets. He wasn’t looking at Stiles, he was just watching the road, like he expected Gerard to come back.

Feeling uncomfortable, Stiles quickly looked down at his phone to find his dad’s number and hit the call button, inching a little further away from Peter. He knew it was stupid to feel nervous, but Gerard had just been fucking creepy as hell, and now Peter was hanging out by his Jeep and he _really_  needed to talk to Tara about a new place to park.

 _“Stiles,”_ his dad said in way of greeting. _“Done work already?”_

“I need you to come and pick me up,” he said quietly, still watching Peter. “Someone slashed my tires, I need a ride.”

 _“What?”_ He heard the sirens cut on over the phone and sighed. His dad was always so dramatic. _“Are you okay? What happened?”_

“I’m fine, dad. Just some assholes wanting to ruin my night. I only have the one spare, so I can’t drive it home.”

_“Where are you?”_

Stiles gave him the address for where he was, and his dad confirmed he would be there as soon as possible. With the sirens going, Stiles didn’t doubt he’d arrive relatively quickly. He thanked him and hung up, putting his phone back in his pocket.

Peter Hale hadn’t moved, eyes on the road, and Stiles frowned.

“Um, thanks.” Peter turned to look at him and Stiles shrugged one shoulder. “For before. That guy, he was—I mean, I kind of know him, but he was a little...” He shrugged one shoulder again.

“I don’t trust Gerard Argent one iota,” Peter informed him, looking back out towards the road. “His daughter raped my nephew. The Argents have money, so they covered it up. I don’t trust anyone in that family.”

Stiles’ head snapped back in shock, because that was an extremely personal thing to share with a total stranger. He supposed it was just Peter trying to explain why he was so hostile and protective of someone he didn’t even know. The fact that one of the richest men in town was currently leaning against Stiles’ Jeep waiting for his dad with him was kind of surreal, and only reinforced that he did _not_  trust Gerard as far as he could throw him.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Stiles said quietly.

“Not half as sorry as I would’ve been if I’d driven past and ignored him cornering you.” Peter turned back to him and offered a small smile. “Peter Hale.” He held out one hand.

It wasn’t as creepy as it had been with Gerard.

“Stiles Stilinski.” He shook his hand firmly, and Peter actually let go like a normal person.

Not a creeper, then.

“So tell me, Stiles Stilinski. What are you doing out here in the middle of the night all on your own?”

“I just finished work.” Stiles motioned vaguely up the street, then froze when he realized his dad was about to show up with _Peter Hale_ here. Peter Hale, who was one of the owners of the firm Stiles _supposedly_  worked at.

Oh shit!

Just when he’d started to say something about that, a police cruiser with the lights on slammed to a stop behind Peter’s car. The siren wasn’t blaring, likely because of the area and the hour, but it was clear his father had broken a few traffic laws to reach him.

He climbed out of the cruiser, looking at Peter suspiciously, but Stiles felt relieved to see him all the same.

“Looks like your ride is here.” Peter turned to offer him a kind smile. “Do be careful going forward. I’d hate for something to happen to you due to lack of awareness of your surroundings.” He gave him another once-over. “Or your appearance.”

Stiles frowned and looked down at himself. He was wearing jeans and a hoodie, he looked the same way he always did. It only occurred to him once Peter walked back towards his car that he’d been implying Stiles was attractive.

Well that was fucking awesome, Peter Hale thinking he was attractive. He felt really good about himself, now!

“Sheriff,” Peter said politely while they passed one another. Stiles’ dad nodded back to him and watched as Peter climbed into his car, turned off his hazzards, and drove away. Once he was gone, his father increased his speed and reached Stiles in seconds, one hand at his cheek and the other gripping his arm, giving him a worried once-over.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine, dad.” Stiles punched him lightly in the chest. “I got my tires slashed, like I said. Mr. Hale noticed me standing here and he stopped to stay with me because it was late and this isn’t exactly the best part of town.”

“That was decent of him,” the sheriff said gruffly, turning as if to make sure Peter was actually gone. “Would be better if he’d find a new place for his employees to park, though. They have the money for it.”

“I’m sure it’ll be addressed,” Stiles insisted. He was going to speak to Tara, find a better way to get to and from work without something like this happening again.

His father grunted, then looked at the slashed tires, scowling. “Any idea who might’ve done this?”

Stiles almost said no, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Tara’s concern, Derek’s anger on Friday, and the way all the hairs on his body had stood on end when Gerard had been approaching him. He didn’t want to wind up dead in a ditch somewhere, and it occurred to him that maybe Gerard was his creepy caller.

Maybe Stiles recognized his voice for a _different_  reason than just because he was Allison’s grandfather.

“Actually,” Stiles said softly, then winced and hugged himself. The air had gotten colder all of a sudden. “Can we talk in the cruiser? I don’t wanna stand here and discuss it.”

“Sure thing, kiddo. Come on, let’s go.” He wrapped one arm around Stiles, hand going to the back of his neck like it always did, and pulled him closer while they hurried back for the cruiser. Stiles felt infinitely better the moment the hand was there, because it was something he always attributed with safety and security when it came from his dad. Some of the stress melted away and he felt himself calming down.

Stiles climbed into the passenger seat while his father got behind the wheel, radioing for a tow truck to come and get Stiles’ Jeep. When dispatch confirmed someone was on their way, the sheriff started the car and headed back towards the house to drop Stiles off.

They were both silent for a long while, Stiles staring out his window with his fist against one cheek. The radio buzzed softly, officers speaking to one another over the line, but Stiles couldn’t really make them out. He knew his dad was used to the noise and had it down low because he could pick out when something required his attention. Years of practice, he supposed.

Kind of like Stiles being able to turn people on with one sentence. Also years of practice.

“So you know who did it?” his dad finally asked after the silence stretched on for too long.

“Not— _exactly_.” Stiles turned to his dad, then rubbed his face, letting out a slow breath, cheeks puffing with the action. “I was—okay, so I got to the Jeep and I noticed the tires, and while I pulled my phone out to call you, Gerard Argent showed up.”

“Argent?” His dad frowned. “As in Chris Argent?”

“Yeah, his dad.” Stiles often forgot that his father and Chris Argent interacted. Chris was a consultant with the police department because he was a weapons expert, but he was never around when Stiles was so he didn’t know much about him. Though apparently the Argents had money, which Peter had confirmed. They weren’t as well known as the Hales, who were huge names in the town now, but they were old money and respected by a lot of people.

Which was going to make this conversation really hard.

“Um, he came over while I was about to call you, and he was—it was just uncomfortable. He was giving me looks and insisting he give me a ride home and just... before Peter showed up, he made a passing comment about how I hadn’t actually called you, which I hadn’t, because he didn’t give me a chance.” He shrugged and felt disgusting all over. “It was just an unpleasant experience. I don’t know.”

“You think he’s the one who slashed your tires?” his dad asked uncertainly.

And really, this was why he loved his dad. He sounded unsure, but he wasn’t brushing Stiles off. He wasn’t insisting Gerard was a good person who was just trying to help, and Stiles was being unreasonable. He recognized that Stiles had felt uncomfortable about what had happened, and he was trying to wrap his mind around it.

He wasn’t brushing him off, and _that_  was why Mr. Noah John Stilinski had been voted in as sheriff time and time again.

“I don’t know, dad. It was just weird.” Stiles sighed. “He was getting _really_  close when Peter Hale showed up. He basically muscled his way into our conversation and waited with me until you got there. Gerard left pretty quickly after that, but it left a bad taste in my mouth. And Peter Hale said Gerard’s daughter raped his nephew.”

“No one ever proved that,” his dad said with a sigh. “The Hales and the Argents have been at odds for years, and the rape wasn’t the first thing to come out of their feud.”

Stiles thought for a moment, then turned to his dad. “What do you think?”

“I think there wasn’t enough evidence either way.”

“Put the cop away for a second,” Stiles insisted with a sigh. “What does your _gut_  say?”

His dad turned to look at him, then faced forward again. He was scowling, like he didn’t appreciate Stiles backing him into a corner, but he finally conceded defeat. “I believe Derek. Kid changed after it happened, which makes me think it wasn’t consensual. But we had nothing to prove it, and back then, the Hales didn’t have the means they do now to pursue it.” His dad sighed, shaking his head. “It wasn’t right, putting that kid back out there knowing his rapist got off without so much as a slap on the wrist. But if we don’t follow the laws, we’re no better than animals.”

Well that wasn’t comforting. Finding out that Peter’s comment had been true was really disconcerting and now Stiles really wondered if his ‘I would love to choke you while I fucked you’ caller wasn’t Gerard Argent.

He was sure the man would call again, and he’d find out. But if it _was_  him, then that meant he knew Stiles was Spark and that was extremely unsettling.

Stiles rubbed uncomfortably at his right arm, clenching his hand into the material and staring at the dash. “Hey dad?”

His father grunted in response.

Stiles hesitated. “I don’t wanna be that guy who cries wolf, but I think Gerard Argent might be looking to hurt me.”

The sheriff turned to him sharply, then eased the car over onto the side of the road, shifting into park and turning to him fully.

“What do you mean? Why do you think that?” He was using his sheriff voice again. Stiles hated that voice, it made him feel like he couldn’t keep any secrets.

“I’ve been getting calls at work,” Stiles said, trying not to give too much away. “Inappropriate calls. I mostly ignored them, because I figured they weren’t that big of a deal, but given what happened today...” He shrugged. “Just—if something happens to me, can you start with him?”

“Listen to me.” His dad reached out one hand, grabbing his cheek and giving his head one small shake. “If anything happened to you, I would raze the earth to find you, consequences be damned. Next time someone calls you, you text me, understand? You tell me and I will trace that bastard back to his hole and arrest him.”

“That’s illegal, dad,” Stiles reminded him softly.

“Laws don’t matter when it comes to your child, Stiles. You have no idea the things I would do to keep you safe.”

He smiled slightly, hitting his dad lightly in the chest. “Thanks dad. I’ll let you know.”

“Don’t let yourself get put in that situation again, understand? You better talk to your boss tomorrow when you go in and get a better parking space. It’s one in the morning when you head back to your Jeep, for crying out loud. Why is it so far away in an empty lot? That’s unacceptable.” He pulled his hand back, scowling out the windshield, and started driving once more, easing back onto the road. “I should call up those Hales and give them a piece of my mind.”

“No, that’s okay,” Stiles insisted worriedly. “I’ll talk to someone tomorrow, I promise. Don’t make them fire me.”

His dad just grunted confirmation, but he was scowling and grumbling to himself the whole way home. Stiles wished he hadn’t said anything, but he knew he had to. It wasn’t exactly smart for him to keep something like this to himself.

Sure, it hadn’t been a big deal back when it was just Creepy McCreeperson talking to him on the phone, but if it _was_ Gerard and he knew who Stiles was and he’d fucking _slashed his tires_ to conveniently strand him in an abandoned lot in the middle of the night, well... better his dad be angry than Stiles go missing.

He actually wondered what might’ve happened if Peter Hale hadn’t come by. He didn’t _have_  to stop, he could’ve just kept going on his merry way. But then his comment came back to Stiles, and he realized what he meant.

If Peter had seen what he had, and then kept driving, and woken up in the morning to Stiles’ face in the papers as missing, he probably would’ve felt guilty about it. Not to mention he and Gerard clearly had a problem, and if his nephew truly _had_  been raped, everyone knew how much Peter cared for Derek. It made sense he’d be defensive of anyone who was being cornered by an Argent.

Stiles would have to tell Derek he spoke to the sheriff.

He frowned, realizing how annoying that was, now. _His_  Derek, not Derek Hale. He wondered why his Derek had chosen the same name as one of the richest men in town. Probably compensating for something, though Stiles couldn’t imagine what. He sounded like an amazing guy.

Maybe he had a stupid name. Like Martin. Or Gerald. Or maybe he’d been floundering thinking of a name when he’d first called and happened to be watching the news and Derek Hale had been on it or something. Did Derek Hale show up in the news? Stiles didn’t really pay attention to the Hales. He saw them in magazines and whatnot, but he didn’t go out of his way to watch any shows they were on. Sure they were both hot, but he was a realistic kind of guy. The fact that he’d met Peter by chance was already insane, he wasn’t expecting to run into Derek Hale any time soon with the guy asking for a quickie.

When his dad eased the cruiser to a stop outside the house, Stiles stared out at it before turning to his dad. “I feel like I should send Mr. Hale a thank you of some kind.”

“I think that would be nice,” his dad agreed.

“What do you think? Wine?”

“What do we know about wine?” The sheriff laughed slightly. “Maybe a gift basket. They have some good ones at the Martin’s store in town. Natalie would likely help you pick something meaningful.”

“Good call. Thanks, Pops.” He slapped him lightly in the chest, then pushed open the door.

Once he climbed out and slammed it, he felt his dad watching him all the way to the front door. He walked into the house, waving at his dad, and shut and locked it. He saw the cruiser hanging out on the street for an additional five minutes after he’d entered the house, his dad clearly nervous about what Stiles had told him. Eventually, he drove off, but it seemed to take considerable effort.

Stiles understood. He felt uncomfortable alone in the house. He rubbed at his arms, still feeling cold, and headed upstairs to take a shower before going to bed. He was thankful for his online classes, because he was now sans-Jeep for a little while.

Maybe he’d call into work for the next few days. Tara was going to kill him when she found out what happened.

* * *

Derek was distracted.

Peter was doing it on purpose, because he _knew_  it would distract him.

They were all sitting in Peter’s office. Him, their Legal Counsel, the Chief Compliance Officer, the HR Manager Kira, and the department head for the VP they were looking to fire. They were all there together. This was serious. It was a serious discussion.

Derek was fucking distracted because Peter had a massive gift basket on his desk.

He kept picking stuff out of it, opening it, eating it. He would pick up various non-edible items, smell them, hum to himself, put them back.

He was fucking doing it on purpose because he wanted Derek to ask about it. He wanted Derek to sit there and obsess over why he had a fucking gift basket on his desk.

And it was working. Damn it all, it was fucking _working_ because _why the fuck did Peter have a gift basket on his fucking desk?!_

Derek forced his gaze away from it, focussing back on their Legal Counsel, who was listing off all the possible ways this firing could go south. The list was underwhelming, at best. Yes, it was possible this would backfire, but they had cause, and while it wasn’t as severe as the very few other people they’d fired, cause was cause.

He resisted the urge to look at his phone, because it was well after hours.

And it was Friday.

So not only was Derek going _insane_  trying to figure out why Peter had a fucking gift basket on his desk, he was also grumpy because his call with Spark was rapidly approaching and he was stuck at work.

Today was another bad day. He really needed to talk to Spark. He really needed to improve this day.

“So we’re all agreed, then?” Peter asked once Legal had said their piece. “Mr. Douglas is away next week, if I understand this correctly, thus we can begin proceedings for his departure then. The following Monday, Kira and Derek will wait for him in the lobby with security, and he will be asked to relinquish his security pass and keys.” He turned to the department head. “You will be responsible for packing away his belongings.”

The woman nodded her agreement to this and Peter nodded back.

“Looks like we’ve got the ball rolling. This doesn’t leave this room until the formal announcement after Mr. Douglas’ departure from the firm.”

Everyone mumbled confirmation and stood to head out, Kira squeezing Derek’s arm on her way by. She offered him a small smile that he struggled to return. It was never easy letting someone go, especially when they were a good worker. But bullying was bullying, no matter the form, and Derek didn’t like hearing people were upset to come to work.

Garrett Douglas had brought this on himself.

When everyone had left the office, Derek turned back to Peter and pointed at the gift basket, asking what had been burning on his tongue the whole fucking two-hour meeting.

“What the hell is that?”

“A gift basket,” he said cheerfully. “From the sheriff’s son.”

Derek stared at him. “Why would the sheriff’s son be sending you a gift basket?”

Peter watched him for a few seconds, and normally, Derek would’ve assumed he was trying to be a dick and make him guess. But the softness of his features and the way he actually seemed _concerned_  for a moment suggested it wasn’t that. This was Peter at his kindest, and that meant only one thing.

An Argent was involved.

“Is he okay?” Derek asked instantly. He didn’t know what had happened, who it had been, even what may have caused the sheriff’s son to send such an elaborate gift, but it was obvious Peter had done something to protect him in some fashion, and he appreciated it.

Derek trusted no one more than his uncle when it came to protecting someone from an Argent.

“He’s fine. His father picked him up.” Peter reached into the basket and tossed something to Derek. He caught it instinctively, and realized this was why Peter wanted him to ask.

Chocolate covered raisins, which he hated but knew Derek enjoyed.

“Aren’t you late for your call?”

Derek looked up at him, then checked the time. It was just past six-thirty and he cursed. He nodded a thanks for the chocolate and rushed out of the office, heading for the elevator. It seemed to take an eternity for it to arrive, and by the time he reached his office, he was just throwing things around to get what he needed into his briefcase and scowled when he realized how many emails he had unread. He figured he’d just read them on his phone at home, it was why he had a work-phone. Having two phones wasn’t exactly ideal most of the time, but it allowed for situations like this. He could talk to Spark _and_  work at the same time.

It occurred to him that he probably shouldn’t have looked so _eager_  to leave, considering his uncle was probably suspecting something was going on, but Derek didn’t have the energy to care about that right now. He just wanted to talk to Spark, improve his night, get rid of some of his anxiety over the upcoming termination.

Exiting his office, he met up with Kira at the elevator. She smiled kindly at him, and they chatted about their weekends.

Derek had gotten roped into plans with Erica, her husband Vernon Boyd, and another high school friend Isaac Lahey. He didn’t know what they were doing, but whatever it was, he was sure it would be entertaining.

If nothing else, Erica was always entertaining.

It made him uncomfortable, if he was honest, because Derek had found himself struggling to make meaningful connections with people since he was sixteen. He knew the three of them were old friends from high school, and they’d remained friends for _years_  and still hung out fairly frequently, but after everything that had happened to him, he still worried about his relationships a lot. Friendship, or otherwise.

He was kind of teetering towards cancelling on them, but hadn’t fully decided yet.

Kira was going to her parents’ for the weekend for her mother’s birthday. He wished her a good time and a safe drive, and they parted ways in the underground lot.

He made sure to watch her leave first, wanting her to get home safe, and then climbed into the Camaro, putting his things in the passenger seat and setting his personal phone up in the holder attached to the dash. He had to wait until he got out of the garage before he could call, which seemed to take _forever_  given his mood, but he finally made it outside and immediately called Magical Encounters, looking forward to Spark’s voice all around him in the car.

 _“Hello,”_ the receptionist’s usual sultry voice said down the line after a few rings. _“Thank you for calling Magical Encounters. How may we serve you?”_

“It’s Derek, I’m calling for Spark.”

_“Sorry Derek, Spark’s not in today.”_

Hearing that made Derek’s skin go cold. Spark wasn’t in? Why wasn’t Spark in? Spark hadn’t said anything about not being in! He was allowed a day off, sure, but he usually told Derek in advance when he wasn’t going to be around for Fridays.

His brain immediately went back to what they’d been speaking about the previous week and holy fucking shit, had something happened to him? Was he missing?!

“Why isn’t he in? Is he okay?” he demanded urgently.

_“Spark is fine. He just isn’t in. I can direct your call to someone else if you—”_

“Did _he_  call in? Like, him specifically? Was it him who called in, or someone else?”

_“He called, not that it’s any of your—”_

“Did he sound normal, or was he stressed? Did he sound stressed? He has a stalker, you have to be sure he isn’t—”

 _“Excuse me,”_ the receptionist cut off sharply, sounding irritated. _“I believe I know Spark much better than you do. We are well aware of the troubles he’s been having with one of our callers, and I am more than capable of determining when he is or isn’t being sincere. He called in yesterday, the owner told him to take a week off. He’ll be back next Friday.”_

The line cut off and Derek stared at his phone, despite the fact that he was driving. He hastily pulled over and grabbed his phone, dialling the number back.

_“Hello, welco—”_

“I’m sorry, I know you don’t like me, but I just—is he okay?”

There was an annoyed huff on the other end, but something in his voice probably convinced her not to hang up on him right then. _“As I said, he’s fine. He has time off. If you’d like to speak to someone else, I can patch you through. Otherwise, please don’t call back, I’m working.”_

She hung up again.

Derek rested his forehead against the steering wheel, _hating_  that the only access he had to Spark was through that woman. Was he actually okay? What if something had happened to him? He wasn’t sure how close people at Spark’s workplace were, what if he _hadn’t_  been okay and he was trying to give some kind of signal to the lady to say he was in trouble and it had gone right over her head?

Derek had never called any day other than Fridays, but he felt like he was going to call every day until he heard Spark’s voice down the line.

His evening was stressful and he was extremely unhappy. He couldn’t stop thinking about Spark, and even as he went to bed, he tossed and turned, worried something might have happened to him. What if he saw someone missing in the papers the next morning? What if it was Spark? He would never know!

He should’ve pushed harder. He should’ve done something.

Derek climbed out of bed around four in the morning, calling Magical Encounters back. An unfamiliar voice answered the line, giving the same opening the usual receptionist did. He figured even the receptionist had her work hours, so this was likely someone else.

He very calmly asked to speak to the owner. The woman said she wasn’t in and that she could leave a message. Derek started to explain things about Spark and how he hadn’t been honest about how severe the stalker was getting, but the woman cut him off and very kindly told him that everyone was aware of the severity of the situation because of what had happened on Wednesday.

That did _nothing_  to help Derek’s stress levels and he started asking questions to get more information. The woman seemed to realize this was turning personal and dangerous and cut the conversation short, promising that Spark was fine and he could call back on Friday.

Then she hung up on him.

He was getting tired of people hanging up on him.

Because of his lack of sleep, Derek was miserable all day Saturday. Erica joked that he hadn’t gotten off the day before, and he actually admitted his usual Friday call hadn’t happened. That ended with the other three teasing him, but when he snapped particularly harshly at something Isaac said, they realized this was actually a problem and insisted he had to get laid so he would stop being so fucking uptight.

Derek went home earlier than planned and called Magical Encounters back. The usual receptionist answered and he tried to disguise his voice a little bit, asking for Spark. She didn’t recognize him and said he didn’t work weekends. When she asked if he wanted someone else, Derek hung up.

He proceeded to do this every day that following week. He spent the majority of his day every day dealing with the upcoming termination of Mr. Douglas, and went home at night calling Magical Encounters.

Monday, Spark was still out.

Tuesday, Spark was still out.

Wednesday, Spark was _still_  out.

Thursday, Spark _was still out_.

He didn’t have high hopes for Friday. He was positive when he called in that the receptionist would tell him he was still out, but it didn’t change his schedule. He left work, peeling out of the garage, and hit the contact for Magical Encounters, hands tightening around the steering wheel.

_“Hello, thank you for calling Magical Encounters. How may we serve you?”_

“I’m calling for Spark,” he said, not bothering to disguise his voice. It was almost six-thirty, the woman knew it was him.

He waited, dread filling his stomach, for her to say he wasn’t in. To call back later.

He didn’t know how painful relief could feel until she said, _“I’ll patch you through.”_

It felt like he could breathe again and when he stopped at a red light, he exhaled slowly, closing his eyes, and struggled to remain calm. He would not explode on Spark. He would _not_  explode on Spark!

_“Hey Der—”_

“What the actual fuck, Spark?!” Derek bellowed, voice reverberating against the windows of the Camaro. “Jesus _Christ_! You tell me your stalker is worse than you were letting on with your boss, and then disappear for a week?! Are you a sadist?! I was fucking worried about you!”

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds and Derek frowned. A car honked behind him and he realized the light had changed. He hastily hit the gas, but Spark was still quiet.

“Spark?” he asked, wondering if he’d hung up on him.

Not like Derek wasn’t used to that, by now.

 _“Sorry,”_ Spark said quietly, voice soft. _“I didn’t think you’d care that much. I guess I’m kind of surprised.”_

“Of course I care,” Derek snapped with a scowl. “Your receptionist hates me, I kind of mouthed off at her.”

 _“She told me.”_ Spark sounded amused, now. _“Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”_

“What happened? Is everything okay?” Derek tried to pay attention to the road, but it was hard. It was _really_  hard. Most of his focus was on Spark. On his voice. On the words he chose when he answered.

_“I’m pretty sure I know who my stalker is. I just—I don’t know. I’m not positive. I went to leave work last week and my tires were slashed. Someone showed up, acting all weird and creepy, trying to make me get in his car. It was really uncomfortable. Thankfully someone else showed up to make sure everything was okay and I called my dad to pick me up. When I told my boss, she ordered me to take the week off until she could find me a better place to park where she could keep an eye on me.”_

Derek was horrified.

He was flat-out _horrified_!

“Who was it?” he demanded. “Tell me. If you tell me, I can do something. Look into it. I can hire someone to figure out if it’s really your stalker, get proof, help you get a restraining order.”

 _“I’m not helpless, you know,”_ Spark said dryly. _“I’ve got it under control.”_

“What if something happens?” Derek demanded, slamming on the brakes when he almost went through a red light. Getting worked up with Spark while driving was clearly not a good idea.

 _“Derek, I’ve got it under control,”_ Spark repeated. _“Trust me, okay? I’ve spoken to the sheriff, he’s aware of the situation. And I’m **fine**. I was just a little freaked out, but I’m okay.” _

Derek let out a harsh breath of air, struggling to stay calm. He told Spark he needed a minute to get home, and the other obligingly stayed silent.

Once Derek was in the visitor’s lot and had parked and turned off the car, he rubbed his face with both hands before he spoke again.

“I’m not trying to be weird or anything, I’m just worried about you. Stalkers aren’t something to fuck around with.”

_“I know. It’s why I told the sheriff and my boss the truth. I don’t know for sure the man was the guy calling in, I’m waiting for him to call again so I can match his voice. The receptionist and my boss both know. If it’s him, we’re going to speak to the sheriff again.”_

It took a minute for him to calm down, because Derek kept thinking back to all the horrible things that he knew happened to people in the world. He knew first-hand how awful people could be, and to think of something happening to Spark, to have him mellow out, be less himself, be bitter and miserable like Derek was over a bad experience... he didn’t want that.

He didn’t want anything to happen to Spark. He was literally the only good thing in his life right now.

Which was sad, when he really thought about it. But he was _different_. He loved his friends, he truly did, but there was just so much history there, he was _Derek Hale_ with them. He wasn’t that with Spark. The two of them were just anonymous people on the other end of the phone. They knew nothing about each other’s pasts.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

_“I promise, I’m fine. Trust me, my dad would’ve murdered him if anything had happened. He’s a little protective.”_

“Good,” Derek said. “I don’t mean to get mad about everything, I’m just worried. I don’t want you to lose that upbeat personality of yours.”

_“I won’t.”_

“You could,” Derek said quietly. “I did.”

Spark was silent for a moment. Derek assumed he didn’t know what to say. He realized he probably shouldn’t have said anything, and when he went to move their conversation to safer waters, Spark spoke again.

 _“I’m sorry. I didn’t—obviously I had no way of knowing.”_ He hesitated. _“Is that why you won’t **actually**  go out and get laid?”_

“Partly,” Derek admitted. “I don’t trust people.”

Spark was silent for another moment. _“How old were you?”_

“Sixteen.”

 _“Jesus,”_ Spark hissed. _“Derek, I’m-I’m sorry.”_

“It’s not your fault. But hopefully you understand why I’m worried about you now. This isn’t a joke, Spark. It’s not something to ignore, or to brush aside. You need to watch your back, and you need to make sure you tell someone the _second_  something happens. People are predators and assholes and they’ll come for you whenever they see an opening. Someone slashing your tires in a deserted lot is already a huge escalation. If it _was_  the guy calling in, that means he knows who you really are, and that means you have to be on alert _all_  the time.”

 _“Right.”_ Derek felt like he was making Spark paranoid, but he’d rather him paranoid than dead.

Or raped, like Derek.

 _“Did they catch him? The guy who...”_ Spark trailed off.

“No,” Derek said, not correcting the gender. He didn’t want to give _too_  much away, not that his experience was common knowledge, but still. “They went free.”

 _“That’s the second case in two weeks I’ve heard about where a rapist went free,”_ Spark said miserably. _“What kind of world do we live in?”_

“It’s not great,” Derek said, rubbing one hand down his face. “But you need to appreciate the little things. Friends, family, unknown people on the other end of a phone who work for a sex hotline.”

_“Aw, I’m touched. Are we buddies? Are you my buddy, Derek?”_

Rolling his eyes, Derek began to relax a little bit. Spark was okay. He was on the other end, people knew about his stalker, and he was _okay_. “You’re an idiot. Did you get more of your script done?”

_“I’m starting to think you only talk to me for my script. Rude.”_

“Shut up and tell me about Dylan.”

_“There you go telling me to shut up and talk at the same time. You need to work on your understanding of the English language, Derek.”_

He smiled slightly, closing his eyes and reclining his seat, listening to Spark shuffle his papers while he attempted to find the last scene he and Derek had talked about.

Everything was fine.

Spark was fine.

* * *

Stiles moaned loudly into the phone while playing battle-Tetris with Ginger, who was down the hall. She was really good at it, and Stiles tended to lose more often than not, but at least it was something to do.

He winced at the particularly loud moan down the line, the pitch of it hurting his ear. He didn’t often get women, and this one was _loud_. He felt like he could probably go stand outside and pinpoint where she was in town.

_“Yes, so close, so close, oh fuck, fuck me, yes, yes!”_

“You feel so good,” Stiles said, voice deepening. The men tended to like his low, sultry bedroom voice. Women preferred his deeper voice, because it made him sound older. Sure, he was twenty-five, which was plenty old enough, but women liked to think they were speaking to an experienced older man rather than a mental teenager. The men were a little grosser, at least in his experience.

“Come on, sweetness, I know you can do it. Come for me.”

Stiles winced and actually pulled the earpiece away at the scream coming down the line. Christ, she probably couldn’t get laid because of how fucking loud she was, nobody wanted that screaming in their ear while fucking someone.

She kept grunting out “yes” and letting out weird sounds on the other end. Stiles waited politely for her to calm down a little bit.

When she stopped speaking nonsensically and he heard laboured breathing down the line, he said, “Thank you for calling Magical Encounters.”

_“Mm, thank **you**  baby boy.”_

Always with the ‘baby.’ People were fucking gross.

“Have a good night.” Stiles hung up.

Sighing and leaning back in his seat, he rubbed at his face, then bent down to grab some water from his bag. He heard his computer ding while doing so, but ignored it for a few seconds, uncapping his water and taking a few large swallows to soothe his throat. Sometimes, this job was killer on his tonsils, which was hilarious considering he wasn’t _actually_  sucking dick.

Shoving the bottle back into his bag, he sat up once more and read the new message on his screen, ignoring Ginger’s comments at the fact that he’d lost battle-Tetris again.

The new message made him feel cold all over.

 **[Trixie]**  
I think it’s him on line 3.

Stiles’ eyes shot to the phone, seeing that line blinking on hold. He couldn’t stop thinking about the story Peter Hale had told him about his nephew. About the story Derek had told him on Friday. Until last Wednesday, he’d assumed everyone was blowing things out of proportion, but he’d legitimately been stranded _alone_  in a dark parking lot with a creepy old man coming at him.

All of the threats, all of the kinks and disgusting fantasies his stalker said to him were now distinct possibilities.

Suddenly, everything felt very, _very_  real.

 **[Spark]**  
Does T know?

 **[Trixie]**  
Already messaged her.  
**[Trixie]**  
She’s ready to take over your line.

 **[Spark]**  
thanks. I’m gonna see if I can get him to talk a bit.

 **[Trixie]**  
Sure. Just let T know when she can take over.

 **[Spark]**  
Will do.

Stiles stared down at the phone, rubbing at his thighs to rid his palms of sweat. He wouldn’t usually be this worried, but if this _was_  Gerard Argent, he’d already almost gotten Stiles once. If Peter Hale hadn’t driven by, he had no idea what might’ve happened.

He kept insisting in his head that he’d have raced for the trunk, grabbed the tire iron, defended himself. He wasn’t a hapless child who needed protection, he could fend for himself.

But what if Gerard had a gun? His son was a weapons expert. What if he’d had a gun? Or a taser? Or any other number of weapons that would’ve stopped Stiles from getting to his tire iron?

What if his trunk was sticking, like it often did, and he didn’t get it open before Gerard was there with a weapon? What if, what if, what if?

Stiles hated that this was happening, but hopefully he could get to the bottom of this and he would be able to get a restraining order.

Letting out a slow breath, he picked up the line and went for his usual sultry voice.

“I hear someone’s looking to have a good time tonight,” he forced out. Not one of his better lines, but he was a little distracted.

It would be _really_  embarrassing if this wasn’t even his stalker.

_“I always have a good time with you, Spark.”_

He frowned. It was familiar, but not enough for him to be absolutely sure.

“Is that right?” he placed both hands on the desk in front of him, listening hard. “I’m always happy to be of service. Tell me what you’re looking for tonight, and I’ll do my best to please you.”

_“Just the sound of your voice is enough. I’d love to hear you beg.”_

“I can beg,” Stiles agreed, lowering his voice further. This was really starting to sound like the stalker. “How would you like me to beg? For a spanking? For your cock?”

_“For air.”_

Yup. Stalker.

“For air? That sounds a little boring,” Stiles said, losing a bit of his persona, voice starting to return to normal.

_“It’s not. Have you ever had someone slide their cock into you, their hands around your throat, dots dancing in your field of vision? It’s quite remarkable.”_

“Sounds to me like that’s something _you_  would enjoy as opposed to me. I prefer being conscious when I’m being fucked.”

_“You don’t know what you’re missing, Spark. I would love to see you under me, clawing at my arms while I slide into you nice and slow, hands tight around that beautiful pale column of yours.”_

“You have no idea what I look like,” Stiles said, but he was starting to feel sick. This was sick. He just needed him to say something incriminating. He wasn’t entirely sure it was Gerard Argent, and he couldn’t move forward with anything until he was sure. “Unless we’ve met before.”

_“Will you beg for me, Spark? I’d love to hear you beg. I’d love to turn these fantasies into reality. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”_

“No thanks,” he said, losing his persona entirely. “I’m not interested.”

_“Everyone has a price, Spark. Even you. Maybe you should consider it before I decide I don’t want to play nice anymore. You need the money, don’t you, Spark? For school, right?”_

Stiles felt cold all over.

 **[Spark]**  
take him!  
**[Spark]**  
take him takehimtakehim!!!!!!

The line cut off and Stiles let out a sharp exhale, resting his elbows on the desk and covering his face with both hands. It was fine. Everything was fine. He sounded young, it was just a lucky guess.

And how could anyone find that sexy? How did anyone think _Stiles_ would find that sexy? Jesus Christ, the world was sick. It was _sick_!

He jerked when there was a knock at his door and looked up in time for Tara to push it open. She gave him a sympathetic look, shutting it behind her, and moved over to where Stiles was sitting in his usual chair. She crouched in front of him, rubbing gently at one arm.

“Stiles, I think you need to tell your father.”

“He already knows,” Stiles insisted. “I already told him about this.”

When she opened her mouth to speak again, he cut her off.

“Don’t tell me to quit, Tara. You know that won’t help. If this is really Gerard, he knows who I am. It won’t stop just because I’m not here.”

“I could just fire you.”

“Tara, I need this money,” he insisted desperately. “It’s fine, he can’t touch me over the phone. It’s just—it’s fine. I’m okay.”

She didn’t look happy and Stiles was positive she was going to talk to his dad. Whether or not she spilled the beans about his employment was to be determined, but she was definitely going to say something.

He wondered if this was enough, now. He wondered if his dad could trace the calls over this.

“What did he say?” Tara asked softly, still rubbing his arm.

“He wanted to hear me beg for air. Wanted me clawing at his arms to get oxygen.” He raked one hand through his hair. “He made a comment about money for school, but that could just be a lucky guess. I don’t exactly sound like I’m forty or anything. I’ll talk to my dad, okay? I promise. I’ll talk to him.”

“Tonight,” she pressed. “Stiles, people have been hurt. This is serious, and you’re someone I care about.” She sighed and stood. “I’m going to talk to some friends of mine. Maybe we can set you up to work from home. I’d feel a lot better knowing you’re not driving back on your own late at night.”

“That could work,” Stiles agreed. His house was in a suburban area, with neighbours. He would be able to work freely there, but only if his dad wasn’t home. It meant less hours, or at least different ones, but he’d manage.

The only call he really cared about was the Friday one with Derek, but that could be Stiles and a friend talking, so his dad could be home for that.

Only if this was even possible to do, though. It might not be.

“Come on,” Tara said, tugging lightly on his hair. “Let’s get you home. You’re done for tonight.”

He winced, because he felt guilty, but he knew he wasn’t the first person to get sent home early over a crazy caller.

One of the other girls from a year back, Angel, had quit because of harassment at work. It wasn’t the same kind, but it was enough that she’d moved away. Tara still heard from her every now and then, so things had worked out, but Stiles wasn’t in a position to move right now, and he had a crazy dude wanting to choke the life out of him while fucking him, which really put a damper on his mood.

He kind of understood what Derek meant about his personality, now.

Stiles packed away his things and said goodnight to Ginger before logging off. He put his headset back on the base and grabbed his messenger bag. He and Tara left the room together when she confirmed the corridor was clear and they hurried out the back. Tara unlocked the doors to her car and climbed in, Stiles getting in beside her in the passenger seat.

They were silent on their way to the new parking lot Stiles had parked his Jeep in. It was only a temporary fix, since it was further out, and required someone to drive him to it, but Tara said she preferred this over him being ambushed again. They were still looking for another solution to his parking situation.

When they pulled into the brightly lit underground, she stopped beside his Jeep and he thanked her, climbing out and getting behind the wheel of his car. She followed him out of the garage, and they waved at one another while turning their separate ways.

Stiles made sure to watch the road closely while he drove. He was starting to get paranoid, and wouldn’t put it past someone to throw a line of nails onto the road or something. Especially if it _was_  Gerard Argent. He had money, he could do things.

He made it home without any problems, and into the house safe and sound. He called his dad to talk, but he was on a call and didn’t answer. Stiles figured he’d talk to him later. For now, he just went around the house making sure all the doors and windows were locked, then wedged a chair against his bedroom door and grabbed his bat from his closet.

He felt kind of stupid, but hearing someone say, “I’d love to hear you beg” with so much _malice_  in their voice was pretty fucking unsettling.

He changed out for bed and lay down, staring at his ceiling. Rolling over, he checked his phone for messages, and wished it was Friday so he could talk to Derek. None of his friends knew where he worked, and he really felt like he needed to talk to someone who understood.

Not that he wanted to make Derek relive something clearly horrible and traumatic, but at least he could unload and admit that he was starting to get a little scared. Stiles thought he had a reason to be a little scared. Or a lot scared.

Sighing and dropping his phone, he rolled over and closed his eyes, trying to get some sleep.

It was only fucking Monday.

* * *

It was only fucking _Wednesday_ and Derek was having _the worst_ day _ever_! Why did horrible days always seem to happen on Wednesdays?! Why couldn’t they happen on Mondays, so that he could just hate the day a little more than normal? Why did it have to be smack-dab in the middle of his fucking week?

Better yet? Why couldn’t it be on fucking _Fridays_ when he had _Spark_  to look forward to?!

Derek was still fuming by the time he left the office at just past seven. They’d fired Garrett Douglas on Monday, and he’d come back to make a scene today, insisting the firm didn’t know what it was doing, he was going to sue, he was going to go to all the papers in town and talk about wrongful termination. He’d bullied someone into letting him in on Derek’s floor and had stormed into his office and tried to start an actual fist-fight! Erica had called security, but Derek had to try and hold the guy off without hitting him, or he could get sued for that. He couldn’t lay a fucking finger on him, which was frustrating because he now had a black eye, a swollen lip, and his cheek was fucking killing him.

Peter had been furious. He wanted to fire the person who’d let Garrett in, and while Derek partly agreed, he also understood that the woman had been bullied and harassed into it, and it wouldn’t be fair to punish her. The only upside to this was that Derek could charge him with assault, and they had additional fodder for any court cases that may arise because everything was caught on video. Mr. Douglas had made an egregious error.

But now Derek was pissed, miserable, and in pain. He’d already told Peter he was _not_ taking the rest of the week off, because at least work would keep him distracted from his anger and the throbbing pain in his face, but he wanted to talk to Spark _so badly_ it was insane. And he was horny and wanted to get off.

 _Fuck_  did he ever want to get off. Not a common thing for him, but he really needed to let one loose. Or listen to Spark get him off.

“Christ,” he muttered, hands tightening around his steering wheel. He had to stop thinking about Spark’s voice, the way he lowered it like he did, the way it sounded when it passed through his lips.

And now he was thinking about it, Jesus Christ.

Stopping at a red light, Derek leaned back against the headrest, staring at the traffic passing in front of him, and his eyes caught sight of a store on the corner. He’d passed by this intersection hundreds of times on his way home. He’d been stopped at this light more times than he could count.

He’d never given much thought to the store on the corner.

Staring at it intently, Derek saw the light change and without really thinking about it, he drove through the intersection and immediately signalled to park, stopping his car behind another vehicle and climbing out. He buttoned up one of the loose buttons on his suit jacket and strode towards the store, trying not to look around like he was doing something wrong.

Because he wasn’t.

He wasn’t doing anything wrong.

Walking into the tech store, he looked around for a few seconds, the guy behind the till busy with another customer. He found what he was looking for on his own, anyway, and wandered over to the voice modulators. He scowled down at them all, picking a few of them up before putting them back down. Most of them came with an attachment for a phone, so he picked up a more expensive one and spoke into it.

“Hello?” His voice came out immediately, slightly distorted and sounding almost feminine. That was creepy.

He checked the digital screen and played with a few of the settings, testing them out until he found a voice he liked. This was actually neat, but also kind of unsettling, and maybe this was a bad idea. He was being weird, and creepy. He shouldn’t have come in here.

Setting it down, Derek turned to leave and jumped when he found the man from the till right behind him, smiling kindly.

“Writing a book?”

“What?” Derek asked stupidly.

“Most people who come in looking for a voice modulator are writing a book.” He moved over to the one Derek had been playing with and picked it up, flipping it over in his hands. “It helps keep the characters separate when you can hear their voices aloud.”

“Oh.” Derek didn’t know what else to say. “Thanks. It’s not for me, though.”

He’d meant for it to mean the product wasn’t what he wanted, but the man misunderstood it to mean that it was something he buying for someone else.

“Ah, overwhelmed by the choices? Well, we have a lot of different options over here.”

Derek didn’t know how to leave, so he let the man drag him around to all the different modulators, testing them out and offering advice. Before Derek knew it, he’d left the store with one of them in a bag and his bank account fifty dollars poorer.

Not that fifty dollars was much money to someone like him, but the fact that he’d actually _bought_  the damn thing was a concern.

When he got home, he was determined not to use it. He got undressed, put on some sweats, and tried to watch TV. Every few seconds, his eyes shifted to his phone, but he kept insisting that he wouldn’t. He _would not_ call Magical Encounters. He and Spark had a good thing going, he wasn’t going to ruin it with his urges.

“Fuck.” Derek got to his feet and stormed up the stairs, leaving his phone down in the living room. His work phone was sitting on his bedside table, where he’d dropped it earlier that evening, but he pointedly ignored it and went to the bathroom. He turned on the shower, undressed, and climbed in.

He was already half-hard and he worked his hand furiously over his cock, head bowed and one arm braced against the wall while water beat down on him. It wasn’t enough. His mind was blank, he couldn’t get himself in the mood. He wanted to get off _so fucking bad_ but he was too fucking distracted.

He gave up after ten minutes, and dried off so roughly he actually hurt himself. Storming back across his room, he went back downstairs buck naked and stopped in the living room, staring at his phone.

If he called, there was a chance his number would be recognized. The receptionist might not know it, but Spark would. Derek didn’t know if he could see the numbers calling in, but in case he could, he didn’t want Spark to recognize it. He didn’t want...

“Shit.” Derek rubbed at his mouth with one hand. Was he actually going to do this? He didn’t want to do this to Spark, he _didn’t_. But he needed him, and he was so fucking desperate for release and Spark’s voice was just so perfect.

He didn’t have to know.

Spark didn’t have to know. It would be one time. Just one time. It had been a really bad day.

He would never do it again.

Cursing, Derek turned and grabbed the voice modulator off the counter. He had his work phone upstairs so he hurried back to his room while opening the packaging and quickly looked over the instructions. He attached the modulator to his work phone, and then went back downstairs to get his personal phone, calling himself. He played with the modulator on his work phone until his voice came out how he wanted it to, then locked the modulator into that voice. The screen turned off when he locked it, but the voice coming down the line was still the fake one he’d just created.

He hung up his personal phone, leaving it in the living room, and went back to his bedroom. He climbed onto his bed, getting comfortable, and then stared at his phone.

Spark wouldn’t know. He would never know. It was just this one time.

Just _one time_. Derek would never do it again.

He just _needed_  him. He needed him in a way that was different than usual, but he didn’t want to upset him. He didn’t want Spark to think he was like everyone else, because he wasn’t.

Derek _wasn’t_. He just... he needed this. Just today. Just this once.

He had to look up the number online since it wasn’t saved into his contacts on this phone and then he brought it to his ear, heart pounding in his chest.

The line clicked, and the usual voice came on.

_“Hello, welcome to Magical Encounters. How may we serve you?”_

This was a bad idea. This was so, so fucking dumb. He couldn’t do this, Spark trusted him. He deserved better than this! Maybe he could just ask for someone else. Maybe he could get any of the other guys who worked there and—

 _“What’s wrong, honey? You shy?”_ the receptionist purred. _“Don’t worry, we’ll take real good care of you. Just tell me what you like and we’ll have you coming in no time.”_

He had to admire her ability to ensure it was gender-neutral, since she had no idea if he was a man or a woman. Fuck it, maybe he should’ve pretended to be a woman, God dammit! This was dumb!

He should hang up. He should—

“Spark.” Shit, it came out. Shit, shit, _shit_! “I want to speak to Spark.”

Derek waited for her to recognize him. He waited for her voice to return to normal, almost annoyed, call him by his name and patch him through. He waited to be outed, to be asked why he was calling when it wasn’t Friday.

That didn’t happen.

_“Sure thing, sugar. Let him get ready for you, and then he’s all yours.”_

That probably meant he was on another call, and Derek felt sick knowing what he was about to do. It wasn’t too late, he could still take the voice modulator off. He could still talk to Spark, pretend the receptionist hadn’t recognized his voice. He could still back out—

_“I’ve been waiting for you.”_

Right to the fucking groin. Derek didn’t know how loud, boisterous, jovial Spark could make his voice sound like that on command, but fucking _hell_  it was the hottest God damn thing Derek had ever heard in his life.

_“What kept you?”_

“I’m sorry,” Derek blurted out, and a part of him was hoping Spark would know. A part of him was actually lying there on his back _praying_  that Spark would figure it out and know it was him, revert back to his normal voice, ask him why he was apologizing and move on with their conversation as normal.

He didn’t. And of course he didn’t, because Derek didn’t sound like Derek, and Spark had no fucking idea who he was speaking to!

_“You should be, I’ve been desperate for your cock all night.”_

“I’ve never done this before,” Derek said before Spark got too far into this. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

 _“Fresh meat, huh? That’s always the best kind of meat.”_ And fuck if Spark hadn’t literally just sucked on a finger to make that wet popping sound and Jesus Derek’s dick was already at full attention, _fuck_! _“What’s your name? So I know what to scream later.”_

Derek’s mind blanked. He’d forgotten about thinking up a fake name. He hastily looked around his room, eyes falling on a random magazine on the opposite nightstand. The top one was a National Geographic with a large picture of a wolf, and he just went with it.

“Wolf.”

 _“Wolf, huh?”_ Spark’s voice was practically purring into the phone and Derek reached down with one hand to clench the base of his cock, hissing slightly. _“You gonna have me howling all night, Mr. Wolf? Would you like that? I’m sure you’d do me real good.”_

“Fuck.” Derek hadn’t meant for it to come out, but he already felt like he was ready to come just _listening_  to him use that fucking voice.

_“Tell me what you like, Wolf. Whatever it is, I’ll be sure to make your first time extra special.”_

“I just want to hear your voice,” he grit out. When was he supposed to start stroking himself? Was he allowed to start now? Jesus _shit_  he wanted to fucking start now!

_“You like my voice? That’s one of the best compliments you could give me. Tell me, Mr. Wolf, are you already touching yourself? I hope you are, I bet you can barely wrap your hand around that monster cock of yours. Imagine how hard it would be for me to do it. I’d try though. I’d try real hard, maybe even wrap my lips around it, suck hard. Can you feel it? Can you feel my hand moving on you?”_

Okay, so he was doing this, now. He was too far in, now. He couldn’t back out, Spark was already doing this, he couldn’t... Fuck!

Derek tightened his grip ever so slightly, and then slowly loosened it and began stroking himself, closing his eyes and listening to Spark’s voice in his ear.

He could feel his skin beginning to heat, sweat breaking out across his chest and up his throat. It was kind of embarrassing how hard he was breathing into the receiver, but fuck if Spark’s laboured breaths on the other end weren’t _doing things_ to him!

_“Can you imagine your dick sliding into me? I can. I bet you can, too. Would you like that? I promise to be tight for you, I’d clench around you to make it the best fuck you’ve ever had.”_

“Fuck, your _mouth_ ,” Derek hissed, tightening his hand around his cock. God, he’d never wished so badly in his life to know what Spark looked like. He wished he could imagine him on top of him, sliding down onto his cock, breathing hotly against his ear and whispering disgusting things that would have even Peter fucking blushing.

Spark groaned on the other end, letting out a small whine, and Derek almost lost it. He bucked his hips up into his hand, clenching the phone tightly, and listening to Spark breathe wetly into the receiver.

_“Fuck, so good. You do me so good, Wolf. I’m so fucking close.”_

Derek wished that were true. He pretended that it was. He pretended that Spark knew it was him, that he was touching himself, that he was _enjoying_  himself. He pretended Spark was as into this as he was, that he’d been _waiting_  for Derek to do this, to call him and make it sexual. To get off listening to him.

Derek wasn’t a talker at the best of times, and this was no different. The most he did was pant and groan into the phone, hand working furiously and his stomach clenching, orgasm coming. He could feel it, he was almost there. He was so fucking close.

And because he wasn’t speaking, Spark was, and God, that was _all_  he needed, that was all he was ever going to need for the rest of his fucking life.

_“Fuck yes, you’re so good. You’re so fucking good to me. Fuck me with that cock. I want you to make it so I can’t sit for days. Come on, Wolf. Fill me up, do it. Fucking do it, come!”_

Derek grit his teeth, hips jerking off the mattress and hand tightening around his pulsing cock. Ribbons of cum spattered across his chest, some of it going so far as to hit his chin. He clenched his eyes shut, seeing stars with how tightly he was closing them, and forced himself to move his hand, stroking himself harshly, cock oversensitive.

Cum was still drooling from the tip by the time he got his shaky hand to stop, breathing laboured and eyes opening slowly. Jesus Christ, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such an intense orgasm. He had cum on his fucking _face_ , that had _never_  happened before.

 _“I hope you enjoyed your first time,”_ Spark’s voice said huskily down the line. _“Thank you for calling Magical Encounters.”_

“Spark, wait,” Derek forced out, and Christ his voice sounded _wrecked_!

 _“Hm?”_ Spark asked, sounding amused. _“Are you not done? Ready for round two? I can go all night, Wolf. I don’t mind getting a little loud, if that’s what gets you going.”_

Oh Jesus, he was going to get him hard again, and Derek didn’t want that. He fucking _didn’t_! Because now that it was over, now that he was sated and his day had improved exponentially, and he was fucking basking in the glow of the best orgasm he’d had in _years_...

Now he felt like shit.

Because he’d lied. He’d lied to Spark. He’d made him do the very thing he always said he hated. Sure, it was his job, but he did it for the money, not because he liked it. He wasn’t really on the other end, turned on and stroking himself, enjoying listening to people get off to the sound of his voice.

He fucking hated it. And Derek _knew_  that, and he’d done this anyway.

“Spark,” he forced out, needing to tell him. He had to come clean. He had to tell him the truth.

_“Tell me what you want, Wolf. I can make you feel good.”_

No. He couldn’t tell him with that voice in his ear. Fuck!

“Thank you,” he blurted out instead, and promptly hung up.

He was a fucking disaster. Shit. He couldn’t believe he’d actually done that. Shit.

 _Shit_!

He had to tell him. He had to, this was going to eat away at him.

Derek rolled out of bed, and almost fell flat on his face, knees shaking and barely holding him up. He hadn’t felt this fucking feeble after an orgasm since the first time he’d had sex. That was bad, because that meant he _felt things_ for Spark. That meant this was more than just sex, and shit, he already knew that, because he’d come so fucking hard it was on his God damn _chin_ and _fuck_!

But he couldn’t. He _couldn’t_. He wasn’t going to think about it, wasn’t going to acknowledge it. This thing with Spark, it was nothing. _Nothing_. They were just friends, and this meant _nothing_!

Derek stumbled towards the bathroom, grabbing a cloth and shoving it under the tap. He wiped himself clean, wincing and hissing when he cleaned up around his dick. It was overly sensitive, and he felt guilty all over again realizing how good it had been.

Spark’s voice in his ear, his hand on his cock, imagining a lithe body on top of him, rolling his hips, fucking himself on Derek’s dick.

“Fuck,” he hissed, tossing the soiled cloth into the tub to be dealt with later. He turned and hurried out of the room, going back down to the living room and grabbing his personal phone. He had to come clean, it would eat away at him if he didn’t.

He should’ve just asked. He should’ve admitted it and just fucking _asked_! This was horrible, he shouldn’t have done this!

He stabbed at the contact for Magical Encounters and put it to his ear, impatiently listening to the receptionist give the same spiel she’d literally _just_  said to him moments ago.

“It’s Derek, I need Spark.”

 _“Oh,”_ the woman said in her usual disapproving tone. _“He’s busy.”_

Derek had hung up with him not even five fucking minutes ago, and already he was on another call?! The town really _was_  full of disgusting assholes.

 _Just like you,_ his inner voice reminded him.

He told it to shut the fuck up.

“I’ll wait.”

_“Might be a while.”_

“I’ll. Wait.”

 _“Suit yourself, it’s your phone bill.”_ The elevator music started up and Derek went back to his room. He sat on the edge of his bed, and buried his face in his free hand, feeling like shit.

He shouldn’t have done it. As good as it had felt, as much as he’d loved it, as fucking _amazing_  as his orgasm had been, he shouldn’t have done it. Spark liked him because Derek wasn’t like other people. He didn’t call to get off, he called to have a conversation. Sure, it had started as a means to get people off his back, but now he spoke to Spark because he enjoyed it. He had fun. Spark was the only good thing he had to look forward to on a bad day.

And he’d ruined that. He’d fucking _ruined_  it!

_“Derek!”_

Hearing Spark’s excitement hurt. It hit him right in the chest and twisted painfully.

_“It’s not Friday, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”_

He sounded so fucking _happy_. It hurt to hear how happy he was, because Derek had just done what so many others did. He’d gotten off to Spark’s voice, and he’d _lied_  about it.

_“Derek?”_

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

_“For what? Calling outside your schedule? Oh yes, it’s such a horrible, terrible thing. I am suffering greatly over this change in your schedule, how dare you?”_

He was smiling. He was obviously smiling on the other end. He sounded excited. Happy. Thrilled, even. He sounded like Derek was the best thing to have happened to him all night.

He had to tell him. Derek had to tell him.

“I needed to hear your voice,” he said quietly.

 _“Are you okay? What’s going on?”_ Concern, now.

“No,” he admitted. “I’m not. I—something happened today. At work. I had a really bad day. I got beat up.”

_“Shit! Holy fuck, Derek! Are you okay? How bad is it? Did you go to the hospital? Do you **need**  to go to the hospital?! Shit, what happened?” _

He sounded so fucking _concerned_ about him, and it _hurt_. It hurt, because Derek was a horrible, terrible person. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve for someone as kind and amazing and fucking perfect to be this worried about him.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I just really needed to hear your voice.”

_“Derek, stop apologizing. It’s okay. I’m here whenever you need me, you know that. Do you want to talk about it? I can talk for a while, if you want. I can—shit, I don’t know. I can tell you about the first time I rode a bike or something. Just whatever you want. Tell me what you want.”_

_Tell me what you like,_ Spark’s voice had said, not that long ago, whispering hotly in his ear. _You gonna have me howling all night, Mr. Wolf?_

“Talk to me,” Derek said, because he was worried this would be the last time they ever did. “Tell me something. Anything. Just-just talk to me.”

And he did. Spark went off on how he learned to ride a bike when he was only four, and he’d scraped his knee and cried for hours, and his mother had made it all better.

He talked about the first day of school, how he’d thought his parents didn’t want him anymore, how relieved he was when they picked him up, and how much he’d cried the next day when he’d had to go back.

He talked about the first family vacation they ever had, how exciting it was, and how important it was because it was the only one he’d had before his mother had passed away.

He talked about his dad, how amazing he was, how much he loved and cared about him, how much he admired him.

He talked about his favourite food, the different things he’d like to try one day, the fact that he couldn’t cook to save his life but tried anyway, and even succeeded sometimes.

He talked about how much he loved hearing from Derek, how he looked forward to their Friday conversations, how it was the highlight of his week and he selfishly wanted Derek to keep calling.

And that was when Derek broke.

That was when he realized he couldn’t tell him the truth. He couldn’t admit it to Spark. He didn’t want to lose this, and if he told him what he’d done, he would. Spark would never be this excited to talk to him ever again. Spark would lose trust in him.

And in turn, Derek would lose Spark. And he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t lose him.

 _Never again,_ he promised himself. _I will **never**  do this to him again. It was a one time thing. It happened. I’m a horrible person. But I’ll **never**  do it again. _

“Thank you,” Derek said softly, Spark in the middle of talking about when he and one of his childhood friends had been trying to do a comic together back when they were only eleven or twelve.

 _“For what?”_ Spark asked without missing a beat.

“For just... for you. For being you. You have no idea how much I needed to talk to you today.”

 _“I’m just happy to help, Derek.”_ The smile was clear in his voice, and Derek promised himself, he fucking _promised_ he would never do this again. _“I’m sorry your day was so shitty.”_

“You made it better,” Derek said. “Just hearing your voice made everything better.”

Spark was grinning when he replied. _“That’s one of the best compliments you could give me.”_

Derek’s chest _ached_.

* * *

If there was one thing this job had taught Stiles, it was that there were a lot of closeted gay men in their town, because the number of different callers he got on a nightly basis was actually a little bit concerning. He could recognize a few repeat callers by their voices—and sometimes the callers themselves which, thank you, awkward—but a lot of them tended to be new. Sometimes he could go one entire evening without hearing a voice he was used to, and that meant he was taking brand new people on a regular basis.

He wondered if it was weird for people. He wondered if, after they finished and hung up, they felt weird or awkward or ashamed. Not that he was judging them or anything, it was just—he felt like if he was going to get off, he’d want to know who was on the other end. Phone sex was fine if you were doing it with someone you liked.

And this guy was a fucking beast of some kind. Stiles had been on the phone with him for a good twenty minutes, and he _still_  hadn’t come. Either Stiles was losing his touch, or this guy was into prolonging his torture. Maybe he was one of those people who made himself close to coming, and then would squeeze his base to hold it off.

Which, okay, fine, Stiles was cool with that, but he was _working_  and he wanted to just get this guy off so he could move on to the next person. He was starting to run out of things to say. This wasn’t like with Derek where he talked for half an hour, he was _legitimately_  working to get this guy off and it was _hard_.

Just when he’d let out another loud moan, he heard the guy on the other end grunt loudly and thought, _Finally!_

He waited for the panting to subside somewhat, because it was polite to wait, and heard the guy let out a soft grunt.

_“Was that good for you, baby?”_

People needed to up their vocabulary, he was getting tired of hearing the word ‘baby.’ Maybe he could talk Tara into adding that to the paperwork. ‘You cannot call anyone you speak to baby.’ Then again, it’d only work for the people with accounts, not with the people who just called in.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Stiles purred down the line. “Thank you for calling Magical Encounters.”

_“Thank **you**  for the magical encounter.”_

Stiles silently pretended to gag and hung up, shaking his head. Why were people so gross? Like, okay yes, they were paying his bills, but seriously, why were they so gross? No wonder Tara had thought to open this place, she was raking in the dough. At the price the calls were, and the number that they got a night, he felt like she was probably rolling in cash.

 **[Spark]**  
Done.

 **[Trixie]**  
Line two asked for you.

Stiles let out a groan and thumped his forehead on the desk. The repeats without accounts were always weird, and he’d been getting them a lot lately. Apparently he had a sexy voice, if he was to believe every single dude who’d ever gotten off listening to him. The only person to date who’d told him he liked his voice in a _non_ -creepy way was Derek.

And now he was depressed, because it was only Tuesday, and he had two more workdays of this bullshit before he would speak to him on Friday. He often wondered what he was going to do with himself when Derek stopped calling in. He would eventually stop, wouldn’t he? He couldn’t keep this up forever. He sounded attractive, and he was a good guy. He’d go out and find himself a lovely lady one day, start dating, enjoy life. He would forget all about some voice on the other end of the line, forget he’d ever even called Magical Encounters.

Spark would be a distant memory to him, a moment of loneliness he’d chosen to fill with someone who had nothing better to do than get people off on a regular basis.

Depressing thought. Stiles was depressed now.

Sighing and rubbing his face, he grabbed his water from his bag and took a large sip before replacing it, getting himself ready for another call, and picked up the line.

“I hear someone’s been waiting for me,” he breathed down the line.

_“I’m always waiting for you, Spark.”_

“Is that so?” Stiles leaned back in his seat, slumping slightly and staring at the ceiling in boredom, even as his voice retained its bedroom-esque allure. “I’m always happy to be of service. How do you want me?”

_“The same way I always do.”_

Stiles paused in his action of shifting the chair from side to side with his foot, the words making his gut twist.

“And how’s that?” he asked, already knowing the answer. Because he already knew who this was.

Only one person spoke to him like that.

_“On your back beneath me, my cock sliding into you, and my hands around your throat.”_

This was getting old. This was getting really fucking old, and Stiles was done. He was done being freaked out, he was done letting this jerkwad make him feel helpless, and he was _done_  being afraid of a fucking voice on the other end of the line.

Sitting up straight, he put both hands on the desk and let out a slow breath.

“You know, I feel sorry for you,” Stiles informed him, voice returning to normal. “It must be really hard having such disgusting fantasies and not being able to act on them with someone three times younger than you. Does it feel good being such a fucking creepy asshole? You have enough money, maybe you should go out and find some prostitute to torture instead of coming after me. You know who I am, I know you do. And I know who you are, too. And in case you’ve forgotten, let me remind you who my father is. He is the man who will trace this call in a heartbeat. He is the man who will show up at your house and arrest your rapist ass for trying to make a sick fantasy a reality. He is the man who will ensure the whole town knows that you are a disgusting, worthless piece of shit that isn’t worth the air he breathes. You think you scare me? Think again. I have listened to you time and again talk about how perfect I would look under you. How fucking sexy it would be for you to fuck me while choking the life out of me. How much you wish you could cut into me and watch me bleed while sliding in and out of my hole. You’re not fucking special, everyone has fantasies about me. Everyone hears my voice and gets off to it. You’re the only one sick enough to want to imagine me dying and bleeding under you. Blood’s a bitch to get out of sheets. You should know, you have a daughter. She might be all grown up now, but you have one. And a wife. I’m sure you’ve seen accidents in the bed before. Is that what gets you off, now? Seeing blood in a bed because your wife’s period leaked through her panties at night? How about you take your sick fantasies, and shove them right up your ass along with the restraining order I’m taking out on you if you call me one more _fucking_  time. Come near me again, and I’ll break your face with a tire iron. Do you understand, Mr. Argent?”

For a few long seconds, there was silence apart from Stiles’ heart slamming against his ribs. He could hear the man breathing on the other end, could tell that he was weighing his words carefully. Stiles waited, hands clenching into fists on the desk, and prayed for him to give up. Just _give up_. Stiles knew who he was, now. Stiles could fucking _ruin_  him, if he wanted to. All Gerard had to do was leave him alone. That was all he had to do.

_“I love that little **spark**  in you, Stiles.”_

He felt cold all over at the sound of his name. But at least he knew he was right, because this was definitely Gerard Argent. This was definitely the same voice that had asked if he was having car trouble.

“If you don’t leave me alone, my father will arrest you. Don’t think your money will protect you, nothing is more destructive than a parent protecting their child.”

 _“Tell that to the Hales.”_ Stiles frowned slightly, but didn’t interrupt. _“She wanted him so badly, you understand. Kate was always enamoured with that Hale boy. And she got what she wanted in the end. And who won that battle when it went to court? Not the Hales.”_

Stiles felt sick, hearing it confirmed. Hearing Gerard boast about how his daughter had raped Derek Hale, and gotten away with it. Peter’s anger made so much sense, now.

Because it was true, and they had never been able to prove it.

“They could win now, so maybe don’t advertise that too much,” Stiles snapped.

_“But your father is low on funds, isn’t he? Your father is struggling to make ends meet, it’s why you’re working here, isn’t it, Stiles? And imagine the blow it would be to find out he wasn’t re-elected the next time his position comes up.”_

Stiles felt rage boiling in his gut. “Do not threaten my dad,” he bit out. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

_“Oh, I have a fair idea, Mr. Stilinski. All I want is to hear you beg. Just once. Come now, I know you can do that for an old man. I can pick you up in ten minutes, just the one time.”_

Stiles clenched his jaw, a part of him wondering if he could just fucking pretend to choke himself and make whatever disgusting sounds Gerard wanted over the phone, maybe that would be good enough. Another stubborn part insisted he wasn’t going to let him win.

That was when a thought occurred to him. Something he hadn’t really considered before, but now that Gerard was acting like he held all the cards, he realized it was definitely something he could throw into the mix.

“I am not afraid of you. Stay away from me. Stay away from my dad. If you threaten either of us again, if you call again, if you come _near me_ again, I am going to speak to Peter Hale.” Stiles lowered his voice threateningly. “We may not have the means, but Peter Hale does, and I’m sure he’s just _itching_  to nail you to the wall. Don’t _fuck_  with me, _Gerry_. You won’t like the outcome.”

Another silence followed this, but Stiles felt it was more pensive. More Gerard trying to figure out how realistic that possibility was.

Evidently, he thought it was extremely possible, because Stiles waited for an answer, and instead got a dial tone. He let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding and rubbed at his face with both hands. He didn’t know that it was over. He couldn’t prove anything, because none of their lines were recorded for privacy purposes. But he knew, if nothing else, that Peter Hale would have his back no matter what. He may not know the guy, but he’d stopped when he’d seen Gerard coming at Stiles, and he’d commented on not trusting the family. Peter Hale was an ally in this war, he’d already made that perfectly clear.

Struggling to get his heartbeat back under control, Stiles pulled the computer closer and messaged Tara.

 **[Spark]**  
He called again  
**[Spark]**  
I told him off  
**[Spark]**  
He threatened my dad  
**[Spark]**  
I threatened him back  
**[Spark]**  
He hung up.

He leaned back in his chair, waiting for a response. Thirty seconds later, his door opened, scaring the shit out of him, and Tara walked in, shutting the door behind herself and looking furious.

“Are you insane?”

“He threatened my dad,” Stiles snapped.

“Your dad isn’t someone I’m worried about,” she snapped back. “ _You_ are! Stiles, you say you know who it is, but _we have no proof_! If something happens to you, what makes you think we will have any way of proving it was him? How are we going to get one of the richest men in town in jail when he can buy his way out?”

“By having a richer ally.”

Tara stared at him, as if not understanding, and Stiles raked a hand through his hair. “He and Peter Hale have beef. If something happens, Peter Hale will have my back.”

“You don’t even _know_  Peter Hale!”

“I don’t have to,” he insisted. “You should’ve seen him, Tara. You should have seen how he reacted to seeing Gerard coming at me. Peter Hale will have my back, I could literally call him right now and he would be here in a second. That guy _hates_  Argent, and if I can help him get him behind bars, trust me, he’d be all over it. I _know_  that’s why Gerard hung up. He knows a valid threat when he hears one.”

“Stiles, you are playing with dangerous men,” Tara insisted. “They don’t follow the same rules as us. They don’t _need_  to. They have money, they can do whatever they want.”

“I trust Peter Hale a hell of a lot more than Gerard Argent. If I have to sell my soul to one devil to escape another, I’ll fucking do it.” He stood then, turning off the computer and tossing his headset down. “I’m going home. I’m done for the night.”

“Stiles—”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, picking up his messenger bag and the bat he’d taken to bringing with him to work.

He had a new parking spot, but it wasn’t any safer than the first, so the bat was his insurance policy.

“I’ll call my dad. I’ll tell him what happened. He’s not going to call again. He doesn’t have the balls.”

Stiles brushed past her, hoping the corridor was clear, and walked to the back door, slamming through it. He jogged towards the street, looking around and being mindful of his surroundings, bat held tightly in one hand. He pulled his phone out with the other and dialled his dad.

It went to voicemail, likely because he was on a call, but he waited for it to ring through and spoke once the beep sounded.

“It’s me. I got another call. I called him out on it, and threatened him, and he won’t call me again. It’s fine, I promise.”

Stiles hung up, and knew, even then, that he’d probably made a horrible, _terrible_  mistake.

* * *

Derek had promised.

He had promised himself that he was never going to do it again.

That Spark deserved better. That Spark was someone to be cherished, a friendship to nurture and let grow. A person he eventually thought he might be able to meet in real life as opposed to a voice over the phone.

Spark was everything. He was kind, and honest, and caring, and good. He was so good. He was the best person Derek had ever met in his life. He was someone who deserved all of the good things, who deserved to be loved, and appreciated, and treated with respect.

Derek was not a good person.

He was a broken psyche and a bitter attitude. He was a grumpy asshole and a dysfunctional member of society. He was an untrusting coward and a disgusting human being.

They were being sued.

Garrett Douglas was suing them for wrongful termination. He had no leg to stand on, he was going to lose, everyone knew it. He probably knew it, too. But it was bad publicity. And it was a pull on their resources because now a majority of the higher ups had to ensure they had all the information that was needed to rebuff all claims.

Now a majority of the department heads were going to be using all of their time to prove the termination was justified. Which meant overtime. Which meant money spent paying them. Because they’d fired someone.

Derek was in a bad mood. He’d had a bad day. He wanted Spark.

But he _wanted_ him. Not just his voice talking in his ear, he _wanted_ him in a very different sense. He wanted to have him, to imagine him on top of him. Sucking his dick, stroking him, riding him, didn’t matter. Derek needed him right now, and even though he’d promised, even though he’d insisted he wouldn’t do it, even though Spark _deserved better_ , he couldn’t. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t keep that promise. He needed him too much right now, and he knew he couldn’t help it. There was no justification for his actions. He knew he was disgusting, that he was tainting what they had, that he was _lying_  to Spark. He knew he was going to regret it, that he would pay for it, that he was horrible.

He knew all that.

But he dialled the number anyway.

_“Hello, and welcome to Magical Encounters. How may we serve you?”_

“Spark,” he said, feeling shame curling in his gut even as his dick hardened further. His hand clenched around his work phone, the voice modulator in place, and he closed his eyes, settling further on the bed. “I’d like to speak to Spark.”

_“You’re easy to please, already knowing what you want. Give him a minute and he’ll have you moaning in no time.”_

_I know,_  Derek thought, shame twisting relentlessly in his gut. He was going to regret these moments for the rest of his life, but if he couldn’t _have_  Spark, then he would at least take whatever he could get from him.

And at least he acknowledged he was disgusting and horrible and unworthy of even being considered his friend. At least he admitted he knew what he was doing was wrong. He could imagine other people pretending this was fine, that it wasn’t horrible, that they were just accepting their urges as men.

But Derek wasn’t going to sugarcoat this. He was fine admitting he was a fucking disgusting human being and that Spark didn’t deserve this. He was fine knowing he was horrible.

He didn’t have to be happy about his choices, he just knew what he needed.

And that was Spark.

_“Ready for some fun?”_

_Fuck_  yes.

“I’ve been waiting for your voice all day,” Derek admitted. “You have no idea.”

_“I’m always happy to be of service. Tell me what you like, and I’ll be sure to please you. What name do you want me screaming later?”_

“Wolf,” he said, fully expecting Spark to have forgotten all about him.

He should’ve known better. It had been exactly one week, Derek having called the previous Wednesday. It was now Wednesday again, and his name was fairly unique.

_“Mr. Wolf. It’s nice to have you back. I should be offended it took you so long, didn’t you have fun?”_

“Too much of it,” he admitted quietly, free hand on his thigh and determined not to touch until Spark said he could. “I’m sorry.”

_“Why are you apologizing for a good time? I’m glad you enjoyed yourself enough to call back. So tell me, Wolf, are you hard for me? Are you going to come for me? Or am I going to have to work at it to get you there?”_

If he was honest, Spark’s voice alone was making him feel like he could come without even touching himself, but he wanted to get off doing whatever Spark told him, so he just closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

“I’ll do anything you want.”

 _“Anything?”_ Spark purred, fucking _purred_ , Jesus _Christ_! _“Aren’t we accommodating. But see, Mr. Wolf, this is your time. I’m here to pleasure you. So tell me, how do you want me? Do you want to fuck me? Or maybe you want my mouth on you. Maybe you like the moist feel of it, my tongue in your slit. Would you like that?”_

“No.” It was out before he could stop himself.

_“No? Not a mouth kind of guy?”_

“I like hearing you speak.”

_“How about a nice, hard fuck then? Would you like that? I’d squeeze real tight. I’m very good with being tight for you.”_

Derek’s hand shifted to his cock, sliding along his skin until he wrapped his fingers around it. He clenched his fist tighter than normal, almost painful, and slowly began to stroke himself, listening to Spark’s voice murmur in his ear.

 _“Fuck, you’re so big. You do me so good, Wolf.”_ Spark let out a groan that was so fucking believable Derek almost asked him if he was touching himself. He didn’t, because he knew Spark wasn’t. He was willing to bet Spark was just sitting alone in a room playing some kind of game on his phone. Maybe he was working on his script, trying to figure out how to get Tyler and Dylan out of the pool they were almost drowning in.

Spark wasn’t enjoying this, he was just working.

Derek shoved the thought aside viciously. He knew full well this was just a job, but he was going to fucking enjoy this while he could, damn it!

He started moving his hand faster, hips jerking upwards. He tried to imagine what Spark looked like. Maybe he was dark-skinned, a smooth chocolate colour, and a little heavyset. Maybe he was lithe and pale, hips rolling easily, hands splayed on Derek’s chest.

Fuck, maybe he was an overweight white guy with a scraggly beard and doughy fingers. At this point, Derek didn’t care. That voice was doing things to him, and he was struggling to keep his brain in the present.

He could see why this was so dangerous. He could understand why Spark had a stalker. If he wasn’t careful, Derek might go down that road by accident. It was turning into a desperate need. Spark’s voice was like a drug he was in withdrawal from most days of the week, and hearing it now was the biggest high he’d ever had.

“Fuck, Spark,” he hissed into the phone, holding his fist steady and just thrusting up into it, trying to pretend it was Spark and not his own hand.

 _“Oh fuck, **fuck** , yes! You do me so good. You’re so fucking good. Give it to me. I need it so bad. Please, **please**!”_ Spark was actually _whining_ on the other end, voice breathless and pants escaping him. _“Please, give it to me, oh God, oh my God, yes!”_

“Fuck!” Derek thrust upwards hard and clenched his eyes shut, his body tense and his cock pulsing in his hand, cum spattering from the tip. A glob of it hit him in the cheek, a majority of it up as high as his collarbone and neck. He kept his grip tight while he continued to stroke himself, hips still arched off the bed, cum sliding along his hand and into his pubic hair.

Fucking hell. _Fuck_. It should not feel this fucking good just listening to someone on the other end of the phone.

It shouldn’t, but it did. It felt so fucking good. Spark was _so fucking good_.

 _“I love hearing you moan like that,”_ Spark’s voice said softly in his ear. _“Was it good for you?”_

“Yes,” Derek forced out, voice wrecked.

Spark let out the sexiest fucking laugh Derek had _ever_  heard in his life, and he heard him inhale, evidently about to thank him for calling. Derek cut him off before he could say his spiel.

“Spark.”

 _“Hm?”_ he asked innocently.

Derek hesitated, hand still on his cock, cum across his chest and neck, completely fucking sated and happy and...

“Thank you,” he said quietly, gut twisting. “Thank you for this.”

_“It was my absolute **pleasure** , Wolf. Thank you for calling Magical Encounters.”_

The line went dead.

Derek dropped the phone beside his head and covered his eyes with his clean hand, trying to push away the feelings of shame. He didn’t want to ruin his high by feeling guilty, but he did. Because Spark deserved better.

But Derek needed this. He needed to get off. Everyone was right, he needed to get laid, and instead of doing that the past few months, he’d formed a friendship, and now he was desperate for the friendship _and_  getting off. He wanted them both, but he didn’t know how to admit it to Spark.

He didn’t know how to tell him he’d done this.

Spark would be upset. He would pretend he wasn’t, but Derek _knew_  he would be upset. It was such a breach of trust. If Derek had been honest, if he’d admitted it, he knew Spark would’ve done it for him. He knew he would’ve been sad, but he would’ve done it.

But for Derek to go behind his back? For Derek to _pretend_ he was someone else, so that Spark would never know he was just as disgusting and depraved as every other sicko in town? That would destroy him. It would fucking _kill_ him.

He couldn’t tell him. Spark could _never_ find out. He had to keep this to himself. He needed this so bad, but he couldn’t tell Spark.

It took a long while for Derek to climb off the bed and wander to the bathroom. His legs felt like rubber, and he actually took a shower to clean himself off, because he literally had cum everywhere. It was disgusting. _He_  was disgusting.

Setting his work phone on the nightstand, Derek stripped his bed, still naked, and brought everything downstairs to shove it into the wash. He grabbed a new set of sheets and a spare blanket and remade the bed with almost military precision.

Once he was done, he pulled on some sweats, grabbed his work phone, and went back to the living room. He turned on the television and watched a random show for a little while, eying his work phone for any urgent messages.

Every few minutes, a new email about the lawsuit would come in, and he felt his gut clenching tighter and tighter. The high from Spark was already beginning to fade, and when his evening ended with a phonecall from Peter telling him they had to head back to the office despite it being just past eleven at night, Derek said he’d be right there, hung up, and then dialled another number.

_“Hello, thank you for calling Magical Encounters. How may we serve you?”_

“Hello,” Derek said. “My name is Wolf. I would like to set up an account.”

 _“That sounds excellent,”_ the receptionist said silkily. _“Any preferences? A particular person you’d like to speak to? A particular time and day? Whatever you want, we can make it a reality.”_

“How many days a week does Spark work?”

_“Monday to Friday. Does he strike your fancy? He’s quite good with his mouth. When would you like him?”_

Derek dragged his computer closer so he could quickly set up another fake email address, already knowing what would follow once he confirmed his schedule.

“I’d like to book him in for seven o’clock.”

_“Of course. On which day?”_

“All of them.”

Derek was going to hell.

* * *

Stiles was in heaven.

Pure and simple, he was in fucking heaven.

He knew it probably wouldn’t last, it was bound to explode in his face eventually, but for now, he was going to bask in the glory of how amazing everything was.

He was getting terrific grades. His screenplay was a hit, and he was already working on more episodes.

He had more regulars than he knew what to do with—one who called literally every day, the guy’s stamina was astounding—and he was slowly working his way through figuring out how to keep them all happy.

He was spending more time with his dad, and they were even taking cooking classes together on Saturday mornings so they weren’t so fucking helpless in the kitchen.

His stalker had disappeared off the face of the earth. Two months, and counting, of fucking _nothing_ , and that was _amazing_!

And, of course, his Friday calls with Derek. The highlight of his fucking life, at this point. He kept worrying Derek would get bored of him and stop calling, but if anything, he seemed more invested in their Friday calls than ever.

He called early, sometimes. He’d started staying on the line longer, even when Stiles reminded him his half hour was up. It wasn’t like it was a set thing, but he knew Derek usually only liked staying on the call for half an hour, or it would look suspicious. He seemed not to care as much anymore.

And he was talking more. He was telling Stiles a bit more about himself and his life without going into so much detail that he would figure out who Derek really was. Not that Stiles had a dossier on all the men in Beacon Hills, but that was hardly the point. He’d discovered that Derek was only twenty-eight—so not an old creepy geezer, score!—and that he worked a desk job early in the morning. He had two sisters, and a close-knit family, but the way he spoke about them suggested they lived elsewhere because it was always with a touch of sadness.

He only briefly spoke about his experience with the rape, but only enough for Stiles to promise him he’d taken the threat seriously. And he’d even gotten to tell him that things had worked out because he was being left alone.

It wasn’t that he thought Gerard had just given up, but more that he seemed to have decided it was safer to take a step back. He was sure he’d hear from him again eventually, just not right this second, at least.

Things were good. Stiles was happy. His life was slowly falling into place. He would finish up his degree in film within the next year and a bit, save up all the money he could from his job with Tara— _sorry dad, it’s for a good cause, I promise!_ —and then he’d be set to go out in the world and try and make a name for himself.

Though he was getting really invested in one of his creative writing classes. His major was in film, and while he was having a blast in all the film-related courses, he’d taken one random creative writing course on the side to fill up his credits for the year and he was actually having a lot of fun with it. It was different than writing straight dialogue, and he had to think a bit more on what actions his characters took because he had to _describe_  it. It was challenging, and fun, and he was wondering if maybe Derek would be interested in hearing about it.

He seemed to really like Stiles’ screenplay, and they were kind of along the same vein. They both involved Werewolves, at any rate, and a gay lead. That seemed to be his jam, even though he still wasn’t sure Derek was into dudes.

He was probably just an ally, which was cool, Stiles was just happy he was supportive.

Halfway through his edits, he realized it was almost four and cursed, packing away his things and shoving them into his messenger bag. He threw it over his shoulder and raced out of the house, locking the door and hurrying to the Jeep, waving to one of his neighbours out walking their dog.

He had to be at work for just after five, but he wanted to have dinner with his dad. Sure, it would be an early dinner, but he doubted his father had eaten anything since breakfast, so it would be fine to take him out now.

The station was always busier during the day, so Stiles had to park his car down the street on the side of the road. He left his bag where it was, since no one would be stupid enough to break into a car in the middle of the day with hundreds of witnesses, and slammed the door.

Walking back the few blocks to the sheriff’s department, he climbed the steps, waving absently at various people who called greetings to him, and wandered into the precinct. It was bustling with activity, various people being led from one place to another, some in handcuffs and some not.

A bombshell blonde was sitting in a chair in the waiting area, legs crossed so her skirt rode up to expose a healthy amount of thigh, and a magazine open, perusing the contents with a pinch in her eyebrows and her lips pursed. Stiles gave her an appreciative once-over before turning back to the front desk and grinning at Valerie.

“Hey Val,” he said, slapping his hands in a random rhythm on the table, eyes glazing over the movement happening behind her. “How’s your day been?”

“The usual.” She shrugged. “Muggings, break-ins, that sort of thing.”

“At least it keeps you employed.” He winked and clicked his tongue. “My dad available?”

“Should be, he just finished up with someone, so he’s all yours.” She lowered her voice, leaning closer to him. “He’s been in a bit of a mood, I think he’s hangry. Feed him something more substantial than salad, would you?”

“You’re not getting me to let him cheat,” Stiles insisted, moving around the front desk and pointing an accusatory finger at her. “He’s been doing well, he’s sticking to his diet!”

“Have mercy.”

“Mercy is for weaklings,” he teased, winking again and turning. He almost walked right into someone who was just standing in the middle of the road, but years of lacrosse saved him from bashing into them. “Sorry, my bad.” He didn’t even spare them a glance, moving to his dad’s office and knocking on the door. “Yo, pops. Dinner.”

“Thank God.” The sheriff dropped the pen he was holding and threw his glasses onto the desk, rubbing at his face. “It’s been a day.”

“So I heard. Your staff are being tortured. Rude, dad.”

“Shut up,” he insisted, though his tone was endearing. He got to his feet, pulling his jacket on, and moved around the desk, grabbing the back of Stiles’ neck tightly and leading him towards the door.

Stiles didn’t know why his dad always did that, but he’d been doing it since he was young. He figured it was a way for his dad to ground himself, recognize that his son was there and okay. He always tended to do it when he was worried about him or having a bad day.

Stiles didn’t mind, it was a comforting action for him, something familiar, and he liked that his dad felt better whenever he was around. Most of his youth had been spent giving his dad heart attacks, so it was a relief to know he hadn’t turned into someone his father hated.

They chatted while heading out to the cruiser, the sheriff releasing him so they could enter on either side. His dad didn’t go into details about his terrible day, but apparently someone high profile had been robbed, and there was a string of muggings around the Hale’s back office area. No one had been hurt, as of yet, but his dad was trying to figure out how to have adequate coverage throughout the town while keeping an eye on the Hale’s property.

When Stiles asked if he had any ideas on who was behind it, his dad told him to mind his own business, which was sheriff Stilinski speak for, “I know exactly who it is, I just can’t prove it.”

“You’ll catch them,” Stiles reassured him, slapping him lightly in the chest. “Don’t beat yourself up. Or your staff. Mostly your staff. They’re not as resilient as you are.”

“And what does that mean?” his dad asked, turning to give him a look.

“It _means_  you had a very amazing, energetic son helping you become the man you are today and thanks to him, you can do anything.” He winked at him. “You’re welcome.”

“I think we have two very different definitions of what my son is,” the sheriff informed him with a small smile.

“Cold, pops.” Stiles leaned back in his seat and sighed, watching the road while his dad drove them along towards wherever they’d be having dinner.

“How’s work been with you?”

Stiles almost choked on his own saliva, but managed to catch himself, looking over at his dad. “Good. Great. Awesome.”

“Mm. How’re the markets?”

“Steady.” Stiles made a horizontal line with one hand. “You know, chugging along.”

“I thought the market just crashed.”

“Facebook’s stock dropping isn’t a crash, dad.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “A crash is what happened in 2008. Everything is perfectly level.”

“Hm.”

He was lucky he did his homework and that his dad was a little clueless when it came to market movement.

When he pulled into a lot, parking the cruiser, Stiles gave his dad a look. They were at the steak and barbecue joint in town, which was _not_  part of his dad’s diet. The man shrugged in a sort of ‘what can you do?’ way before existing the vehicle.

Stiles sighed, and figured he would allow it just this once.

His dad was having a bad day.

* * *

Derek was having _the worst fucking day_!

He’d thought things were bad before, with the impending lawsuit, but now that all that garbage had been cleared up over the past month and things were returning to some semblance of order, of _course_  he had to get a call from home.

The security guard in the building was alerted to a disturbance in Derek’s apartment by one of the downstairs neighbours. Knowing he was at work, he’d immediately called him and Derek had rushed home to find his place a fucking _wreck_.

He hadn’t wandered too far into the place, because the police were on their way and he didn’t want to disturb any potential evidence. He’d called Peter, but mostly just to let him know he was out of the office and that Erica was forwarding all the important calls to his work cell.

Apparently Derek’s place was the seventh in the building to be targeted that same day, and the only reason the cops were made aware of the other six was because of the call about his. So someone had been going through the building all fucking day, and only his downstairs neighbour had been smart enough to realize something was wrong. This could’ve been avoided if the other neighbours had been fucking paying attention.

Derek was allowed in after the police did their first rounds, taking almost half an hour with it. He went room to room with an officer, pointing out what had been stolen and commenting on the damage so that it was on record for his insurance company. They’d mostly taken his electronics, which he wasn’t particularly attached to.

A few of his expensive watches were gone, as well, but those would be hard to sell in town. The second someone walked into a pawn shop with them, the cops would be all over that. Some of his better quality jackets were gone, as well, including his favourite leather jacket, which pissed him off a great deal.

After going through all the rooms, he was asked to come down to the station so they could finish up his paperwork and get everything squared away for him. They also asked if he had a place to stay for the night, and he figured he’d just stay at Peter’s for a few days, so he packed a bag while an officer stood guard—he didn’t know _why_  he was standing guard, but he probably wanted to stick close to someone as rich and influential as Derek Hale. He had to work stealthily to get his voice modulator, which thankfully hadn’t been found and stolen, but if there was ever a time he needed Spark’s voice in his ear, whispering dirty things, fuck was it ever today.

Once he had everything packed up, he left the apartment with a few officers and headed back downstairs. The man he’d been speaking to the most—deputy Parrish—told him he’d meet him down at the station, and then climbed into his cruiser with the brown-noser. Derek got into the Camaro and followed along behind them. He had to park on the street a few blocks out, but didn’t worry about it too much, walking to the station with his bag in one hand so that no one would steal his fucking clothes and _toothbrush_  like _savages_.

Erica was waiting for him at the stairs leading up to the precinct, looking a little worried. He just rolled his eyes and stopped beside her while she gave him a once-over, as if he’d been _in_ the apartment during the theft when she knew _perfectly well_ he was in his office.

“You’re supposed to be at work forwarding my calls,” he reminded her.

“Almost word for word,” she said, which made him frown. She pulled out her phone and opened a message once she’d typed her password, showing him a text she’d sent to his uncle. “Peter owes me fifty bucks.”

“Stop betting on my personal life,” Derek snapped, already in a bad mood.

“Stop making it so easy,” she insisted coolly, putting her phone away. “And Peter told me to put your out of office on and come check on you.” She winced. “How bad is it?”

Derek shrugged, climbing the stairs with Erica beside him. “Got most of my electronics, some of my jackets, some watches. They even stole my blender.” He turned to give her an annoyed look. “Who steals a fucking blender?”

“Someone who likes making smoothies?”

“Hilarious. You’re hilarious,” he informed her, walking through the doors and looking around. Deputy Parrish was just beyond the front desk, speaking to the sheriff. It had been years since Derek had seen the older man, but he still felt a kind of warmth in his chest at the sight of him. The only time he’d met him had been during the worst period of his life, but the sheriff was a kind and understanding man, and in some ways, he’d made the loss of his entire family almost bearable with his kindness and sympathy.

He realized he should probably do more for him than just donate funds to the precinct and vote for him every year. Maybe he and Peter could set up some kind of charity event for the police officers in town, that would probably be appreciated.

When deputy Parrish noticed him, he motioned him forward, still speaking to the sheriff. Derek thrust his duffel at Erica, who let out a loud exclamation, but obediently took it and went to sit down in the waiting area. He noticed a few of the male officers watching her with interest, but figured it was their funeral.

Erica was a spitfire and could eat most of these men for breakfast. It was why the only one who could handle her was Boyd.

Moving past the front desk, he was led towards the sheriff’s office, shaking the man’s hand and making small talk while he took a seat behind his desk. They chatted for a few minutes, mostly about the watches and anything else that would be easily traced back to him if someone tried to sell it. It wasn’t a long conversation, and once they were done, the sheriff shook his hand again, promised him deputy Parrish was the best man he had, and Derek followed said deputy out of the sheriff’s office.

While Parrish was leading the way towards another area of the precinct, Derek following him, he suddenly froze when a voice floated through the air towards him from the front desk, seeming louder than every other voice in the precinct, despite the cacophony of noise around him.

It was a voice he knew intimately. A voice he had heard many times over the course of many months.

A voice he had jerked off to, that he’d fantasized about, that he would give his right fucking leg to hear right now, because he needed it, he fucking _needed it_ so bad.

“Hey Val. How’s your day been?”

Derek felt like his body was beyond his control. A puppet being forced into actions he didn’t want to take. He couldn’t cross this line. He couldn’t do this, because once he knew, once he saw him, once he had an image of him in his brain, it would be the end of him. Once he could picture the person on the other end of the phone, it would be fucking _over_  for him. He would be imagining him every time he jerked off with that voice in his ear. He would be picturing him every Friday when they spoke. He would be able to accurately recreate Spark’s lips around his dick, his frame riding his cock, his _face_  twisted in pleasure.

He would have it all. And he couldn’t. He fucking _couldn’t_!

But he wanted it. He wanted it so bad. He _wanted_  to know.

And even as he forced himself not to react. Even as he forced himself not to turn around, he was already doing it, eyes rising to follow that voice, to find the source, to finally _see_  who Spark was, what he looked like, how perfect he could be.

“The usual. Muggings, break-ins, that sort of thing.”

Derek’s eyes found the person Spark’s voice belonged to, and time seemed to stop.

He was smiling so brightly, eyes sparkling and expression so fucking _open_  as he said, “At least it keeps you employed.” He winked, clicking his tongue once, something Derek had heard him do countless times while on the phone with him. “My dad available?”

“Should be, he just finished up with someone, so he’s all yours.”

The woman’s voice lowered, Derek unable to hear her, but he didn’t care. He just kept staring at Spark. At the person he spoke to on the other end of the phone every Friday. The person he got off to _every fucking day_.

Derek had no idea how someone that fucking attractive could work in a place like Magical Encounters. Because he was perfect. He was everything. He was so much more than Derek had ever pictured. Spark was tall, above 5'10", for sure. He had bright brown eyes, soft brown hair, pale skin, a spattering of moles. His smile was crooked, but fucking gorgeous. He hid what was undoubtedly a muscular frame under layers of clothing, and God, his _hands_.

His fingers were long and thin and so fucking perfect and Derek wanted to suck on them, to have them around his dick, to feel them on his skin.

This was so fucking bad. Derek had always tried to imagine what Spark might look like, but he’d never pictured this. He’d never pictured someone as fucking perfect as this.

“Mercy is for weaklings,” Spark was saying while heading right for him. Derek had to move. He had to move, or Spark would walk right into him, and if he did that, if he did, Derek might grab him and do something inappropriate. Like hug him. Or kiss him. Or drag him outside and shove him into his Camaro. He had to move, he had to _move_!

Spark was an inch away when he turned and immediately pivoted around him, not even looking at him while saying, “Sorry, my bad.”

Derek turned slowly to watch him walk away, eyes on the way he moved, unconsciously mapping everything into his brain so he could picture it later when he called Magical Encounters.

And then Spark said, “Yo, pops. Dinner.”

“Thank God. It’s been a day.”

“So I heard. Your staff are being tortured. Rude, dad.”

Pops. Dad.

Spark’s dad was sheriff Stilinski.

Spark’s _dad_ was the _sheriff_.

Spark was Stiles Stilinski.

“Mr. Hale?”

Derek jumped and turned, realizing deputy Parrish was across the room beside a desk, giving him a weird look, waiting for him to head over. Derek turned back towards the office in time to see the sheriff exit with his son, one hand pressed into the back of his neck endearingly, the two of them smiling and chatting while they headed for the exit. Spark brushed past him on his way by, but didn’t turn to look, the two men engrossed in their conversation while they left the building.

“Mr. Hale?” Deputy Parrish was beside him, looking concerned. “Are you okay?”

Derek turned to him, hoping he didn’t look as fucking wrecked as he felt. “Sorry. I was...” He had no idea what to say. “I didn’t know the sheriff had a son,” he blurted out.

“Stiles?” Deputy Parrish looked at him like he’d been living under a rock. “He’s had a son for a while, he’s got to be almost twenty-six, by now.” The man looked towards the door, where the sheriff and his son had exited moments ago. “He’s a good kid, but a bit of a troublemaker.”

He seemed to realize that wasn’t what Derek was there for and ushered him towards his desk once more, taking a seat behind it while Derek sat beside it, staring towards the door even as he answered all of the man’s questions.

Stiles Stilinski. That was who he spoke to on the phone every Friday. That was who he’d been getting off listening to for weeks. Fucking _weeks_. Stiles Stilinski.

God, this was a mess. This was a horrible mess, because Derek knew he should stop this, he knew he should say something, tell him he knew it was him, tell him fucking _everything_. Just come clean.

When deputy Parrish told him he was done and that he would be in touch, Derek looked over at him, having forgotten he was even there, and slowly got to his feet. He almost left the precinct without Erica, who chased him down and threw his duffel at the back of his head, asking what his damage was.

She seemed to realize something was wrong, because she looked concerned and forced him to her car instead of his own, shoving him into the passenger seat. She drove him back to her place, and once they were in the safety of her apartment, she sat him down on the couch and stared down at him, hands on her hips.

“What’s going on?”

“Going on?”

“Why are you acting weird?”

Derek didn’t know how to answer her. He didn’t know how to tell her he was crushing really hard on someone he’d never even met, except now he sort of had, and he was beautiful, and perfect, and everything Derek could’ve ever hoped for, and _Christ_ , he was the sheriff’s _son_ , and—

His brain short-circuited, a memory from months past forcing itself viciously to the forefront.

 _“What the hell is that?”  
_ _“A gift basket. From the sheriff’s son.”  
_ _“Why would the sheriff’s son be sending you a gift basket?”_

Derek felt sick. He felt sick, and disgusted, and this was wrong. He grabbed for his phone, dialling Peter and ignoring Erica’s exasperated sigh at his lack of response.

 _“Nephew,”_  was Peter’s greeting when he answered the call.

“Who was it?” he demanded.

Peter was silent for a moment. _“I’m afraid I still haven’t fully mastered the art of telepathy, Derek, you’re going to have to be a little bit more specific.”_

“You said you got a gift basket from the sheriff’s son. You wouldn’t tell me why, because an Argent was involved. What happened, and who was it?”

Peter said nothing, and Derek _knew_  he was trying to figure out what had just happened. He knew he must sound crazy. His place was broken into, and suddenly he was calling Peter asking about something that had happened months ago.

Something that had absolutely no reason being brought up again.

Except it did. Because Derek had been raped by Kate Argent, and if someone in that family was going after Spark—after _Stiles_ , Derek was going to put a fucking stop to it _right now_.

 _“It’s been handled, Derek,”_ Peter said instead of answering his question. _“I’ve spoken to his father. He’s well aware of the situation. I’ve been keeping an eye on things. What I’d like to know is why **you**  suddenly have an interest.”_

Derek didn’t reply, because it would mean admitting more than he wanted to. It would mean telling Peter this had all started out as nothing. He’d spoken to Spark over the phone, he’d pretended to be getting off when he spoke to everyone so they’d get off his back. But it wasn’t like Peter hadn’t noticed the charges on his work phone. It wasn’t like his uncle wasn’t fully aware of the fact that Derek called him _twice_  on Fridays from two different phones.

Fucking hell, Derek was pretty sure he liked Spark. Stiles. Derek _liked_  him. He’d probably liked him for months, but had insisted it was nothing, because liking someone was _terrifying_. It was easier to pretend it didn’t mean anything real. It was just lust, it was just getting off. He just liked his voice.

But he didn’t. He fucking _didn’t_. He liked his laugh, and his nonsensical noises when he got frustrated. He liked his personality, the way he chewed on pens when he was thinking, the way he challenged things Derek said when he didn’t like them. He liked how open and honest he was, he liked that Stiles knew what he wanted in life, he liked that Stiles was confident in his ability to protect himself.

He liked how he sounded. How he looked. How he fucking _moved_ , even when it was just him going from the entrance to his father’s office.

Shit, Derek liked Stiles.

How the fuck had _that_  happened?

He hung up on Peter, because he didn’t know what to say. He knew this wouldn’t be the end of this conversation, but for now, he just wanted to try and push it back into the far recesses of his mind because holy shit, Spark was Stiles and Stiles was Spark and he was the sheriff’s son, and something had happened with an Argent.

Something had _happened_ with an _Argent_.

But what?

What, what, what? Because if it was an Argent, it was bad, and if he’d sent a gift basket to thank Peter, it was _really_ bad and Spark had a stalker, which meant Stiles had a stalker, which meant an Argent was stalking Stiles and which one? Which one? Because if it was Kate, Jesus Christ if it was _Kate_ , Derek was going to lose it. He would fucking lose his mind.

She couldn’t have Stiles. She had stolen from Derek once, she was _not_ going to get away with it a second time. Not with Stiles.

 _Not_  with _Stiles_! Over Derek’s dead fucking body!

“Derek?”

He started, looking up and remembering Erica was right in front of him. He’d forgotten she was there.

“What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing. I’m pissed off.” Derek rubbed at his face. “Someone broke into my fucking place, Erica, I’m just mad.” He stood and began to pace, raking one hand through his hair.

He felt like this changed things. He shouldn’t be doing this anymore, he shouldn’t be calling Magical Encounters and talking to Spark. To Stiles. He’d crossed a line when he’d turned and seen who he was, what he looked like, what he _could_  be. This was wrong, he was getting obsessive. He was turning into a bad person.

A _worse_  person.

“I need to go,” he blurted out, heading for the door.

“What? Where?” Erica followed him while he grabbed his duffel and pulled open her door.

“A hotel. I need to be in a hotel right now.”

“Derek, you can stay with us. Or Peter. You don’t need to go to a hotel,” she insisted, following him out into the corridor towards the elevator, leaving her door wide open. “Derek, what the fuck?” She grabbed his arm and yanked him back, forcing him to stop. “Talk to me. What the hell is going on?”

“I just need to think!” he shouted, Erica’s head snapping back.

She didn’t look hurt at the volume, just concerned. Maybe a little pissed, because she didn’t deserve to be spoken to like that, and Derek knew that, but he’d done it anyway.

“Just leave it,” he snapped, turning to face the elevator again and stabbing the down button.

Erica let out a scoff behind him. “Fine. Have fun walking back to your car, asshole. When you feel like being a decent human being again, you know where to find me.”

He heard her door slam, and felt like shit all over again.

Erica hadn’t deserved that. She was worried about him. She cared about him.

But he couldn’t right now. He could only handle one problem at a time.

He didn’t know what to do. The decent thing to do would be to stop everything with Spark. Stiles. The sheriff’s son.

The decent thing to do would be to respect him enough to tell him the truth, to let him know that Derek and Wolf were the same person, to admit what he’d been doing.

But he was scared. He couldn’t lose him, he _needed_  him. His phonecalls with Spark, with Stiles, were literally the only good thing in his day. He would stop calling as Wolf. That’s what he would do. He would just—he would go back to being Derek. Just Derek. He’d call and cancel his appointments as Wolf, he would stop, he wouldn’t do that anymore.

Derek called a cab to pick him up in front of Erica’s place, then directed them back to the police station. He paid and climbed out, walking back to the Camaro. He had to look up the better hotels in the area since he hadn’t stayed in one for years. Not since the fire.

Finding a decent one closeby, he drove there, booked himself a room, parked the car in the lot, and then went up to his room. He ordered room service, because he didn’t feel like being outside anymore, and when he checked the time, he saw it was almost seven.

He had to call to cancel his appointments. He had to stop what he was doing. This wasn’t right anymore. Or at all. This wasn’t right at all. It had never been right, he shouldn’t have done it, Stiles would be devastated.

“Shit,” Derek hissed, rubbing at his mouth. Because he wasn’t Spark anymore. He was Stiles. The sheriff’s son. Everyone knew the sheriff’s son. Maybe not personally, but everyone knew of him. Everyone had heard of him, had met him at one point or another, _knew_  things about him.

His food arrived and Derek ate it without really tasting it. He took a shower, trying to clear his head, but it didn’t help. He turned the water on as cold as it could go and exited with his teeth chattering and his chest clenching.

Wandering back into the room naked once he was dry, he fell onto the bed and dragged his work phone and voice modulator over, putting the two pieces together and then pulling up the contact for Magical Encounters.

It was the right thing to do. It was. He could go back to just being Derek. He’d still have him, just not like this. Which was how he was always _supposed_  to have him.

_“Hello. Welcome to Magical Encounters. How may we serve you?”_

“It’s Wolf,” he said, the woman having long ago gotten used to his calls, seeing as he called literally every weekday. “I—”

_“Wolf, he’s been waiting for you. For shame, leaving him hanging like that. Just give me one moment, and he’ll be right with you.”_

“But I—”

She’d already put him on hold and his stomach fell. He’d been trying to do the right thing. He’d been intending to _do the right thing_ and cancel all his appointments. He wanted to put this behind him.

“It’s fine,” he said to himself. “It’s fine. When he answers, I’ll tell him to patch me back through to the receptionist. No problem.”

A part of him had hoped Stiles would answer while he’d been speaking, because then he would’ve patched him back through, but the elevator music was still playing, a sultry voice commenting on how sexy he was, how big his dick was, how wet he was making them.

It was fine. He could just ask to get sent back to the front desk. He didn’t have to speak to Stiles. He could just—

_“It’s not nice to leave someone hard and waiting for you, Wolf.”_

Oh Jesus _fucking_  Christ almighty God dammit all to hell!

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, his resolve shattering, even as he knew Stiles would never understand what he was apologizing for.

_“You should be.”_

Stiles had no idea how true those words really were.

* * *

 **[Spark]**  
Derek’s been acting weird.

 **[Trixie]**  
Weird how?

 **[Spark]**  
Idk, like... weird.  
**[Spark]**  
He always sounds sad when we talk  
**[Spark]**  
Do you think it’d be too personal if I asked him what was wrong?

 **[Trixie]**  
Don’t you guys already GO that personal?

 **[Spark]**  
I guess...

Stiles tapped his fingers absently on the desk, trying to find something to say. They’d been sitting in awkward silence for about five minutes. And it was _definitely_  awkward silence, not their normal silence.

He didn’t know what was going on, or how to fix it. Derek had been like this for the past two weeks. While it had only been two calls, it was still... he didn’t know. He didn’t like it. Something was wrong, and he wanted to help him, he just didn’t know how.

“Hey Derek?”

_“Yes?”_

Stiles hesitated. “Is everything... I mean, are you okay?”

_“I’m fine.”_

He didn’t _sound_  fine. He sounded like he was regretting every decision he’d ever made in his life.

Stiles could relate. He worked for a sex hotline, he wasn’t really the epitome of amazing life decisions.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he offered, having nothing else to say.

_“I have nothing to talk about.”_

“Well, clearly you do.” Stiles sighed. “You’re been acting weird lately.”

_“I’m not allowed to have an off day?”_

“You are, but two in a row? While we’re on the phone?” Stiles hesitated. He didn’t want to say this, but maybe that was the problem. “If you—I mean, you know this isn’t a mandatory thing, right? If you’re–if you’re done with this. With me. You can, you know—”

 _“No,”_ Derek said, so quickly he’d almost shouted it. _“No, that’s not—I’m not. This isn’t you, Spark. I’m just—I’ve been going through a personal dilemma.”_

“Oh,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. Can I help?”

_“I just—I’ve done something I’m not proud of. I did something that will hurt someone I care about. And it’s going to change things when they find out.”_

Oh man, Stiles really _was_  the workplace therapist. He knew he’d told Derek he wanted to help, but this was kind of outside his wheelhouse. Even though things with Candy had worked out and she was in the works of getting a divorce, which seemed to be what she wanted, he didn’t want to lead Derek down the wrong path.

“Is it possible you’re making this into something bigger than it really is?” he asked cautiously. “Are you sure this is going to be as bad as you’re thinking.”

 _“It’s a trust thing,”_ Derek admitted. _“I broke their trust.”_

“But they don’t know yet?”

_“No.”_

“Are you going to tell them?”

Silence for a long while. _“I’ve been trying. I try all the time. The words won’t come. I’m not that great with words.”_

“Maybe I can help you. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m pretty good with my mouth.” He grinned, waggling his eyebrows even though he knew Derek couldn’t see him.

He was expecting a chuckle, or at the very least a groan of annoyance.

He got neither.

That made him frown. This was really eating away at him. Whatever he’d done to whoever this was about, it was really upsetting him, and he wanted to fix it. Stiles wished he knew how to help him, but he could only do so much.

“I think the only thing you can do is be honest,” Stiles told him quietly. “I think it would be better to admit to it now, and hope for the best, than for whoever this is to find out on their own. If you tell them, you have a chance to explain yourself. If they find out, they won’t want to listen to you.”

 _“It was a big breach of trust,”_ Derek insisted, almost too softly for Stiles to pick up. It was a good thing the room was pitch silent.

“Did you have a good reason for it?”

Another silence. _“No. I didn’t. I was selfish.”_

“Oh.” That was hard to help with. “Well, are we talking lifelong friend or a new girlfriend, or what? I mean, the relationship matters, too. If it’s a lifelong friend, they’ll be mad, but they’ll get over it if you’re honest sooner rather than later.”

Stiles’ eyes shot to his screen and he winced.

 **[Trixie]**  
Nearing seven. Wolf’s going to be on the line soon.

 **[Spark]**  
I know, but this is Derek

 **[Trixie]**  
I’m not telling you what to do  
**[Trixie]**  
Just a gentle reminder

 _“I’d like to think we’re close,”_ Derek said quietly.

“Then it might be okay,” Stiles said, unwilling to promise it would be. He didn’t know that. “What if you gave yourself a deadline? Obviously this is upsetting you, so you need to fix it sooner rather than later. How about by this time next week, you tell this person what happened, you explain your side, you admit you were selfish and you apologize.”

Silence.

 _Long_  silence.

“Derek?”

 _“Okay,”_ he said quietly. _“Yeah, okay. I’ll—yes. By this time next week, I’ll be honest. And whatever happens... it’s on me.”_

“Think positive,” Stiles insisted with a small smile. “I’m here for you, okay? I know I’m just a voice on the other end of the line, but you’re my buddy. I want things to work out for you.”

 _“Thanks Spark.”_ Stiles heard shuffling on the other end. _“I should go. My half hour’s been up for a while.”_

“Only because you’ve been calling earlier,” Stiles said with a fond smile. “I’ll talk to you next week, okay? And I’ll be here for you whether it’s to listen to you sob or be excited with your joy at everything having gone well.”

 _“Thanks,”_ Derek muttered. _“Have a good night, Spark.”_

“Night, Derek.”

The line cut off. Stiles sighed, rubbing at his face, and hoped everything really _would_  be okay. He didn’t know for sure, though. After all, Scott had made out with Lydia Martin once when he _knew_ , he fucking _knew_  Stiles had the hugest crush on her. Stiles hadn’t spoken to him for a week.

It had been a long and lonely week, but still! He’d persevered! And then he’d gotten over it because life was too short to be angry at people over things like that.

He just hoped whatever Derek was so worried about wasn’t actually as bad as he thought it was.

He dragged his hands down his face, seeing a new message on his computer.

 **[Trixie]**  
Wolf’s on one.

“Perfect timing,” he realized, trying to get himself back into character.

He didn’t mind Wolf that much. Guy obviously had mad stamina, but he was actually one of the more respectable ones. _And_  he didn’t call Stiles ‘baby,’ which he fucking _loved_  because that was gross.

Stiles had a few good regulars, if he really thought about it. The dirtiest things that came out of the conversations he had with Wolf usually came out of Stiles’ mouth. And Wolf always _apologized_. Like he knew this was kind of gross, but he needed to get off somehow.

He’d rather Wolf than Gerard Argent. Whom he hadn’t heard from in months, actually. It was comforting, knowing he’d effectively scared him off.

Cracking his neck, Stiles reached out for the line on hold and lowered his voice.

“Ready to make me howl, Mr. Wolf?”

_“I’m open to anything you want, Spark.”_

Wolf’s voice was a little weird. Kind of guttural, like he always had something stuck in his throat. It wasn’t a terrible voice, just a little unusual. Stiles just assumed he was trying to disguise it because he didn’t want to be recognized.

Maybe it was someone who worked with his dad. Like Parrish.

Oh. No. That was a bad thought. He didn’t want to imagine he was getting Parrish off, that was something he could’ve happily lived without picturing.

“I just want to make you feel good,” Stiles said huskily into the phone, opening another window and seeing if anyone was free for a game of Solitaire with him. If not, he’d just play on his own, but it was more fun when it was the battle version.

_“You always make me feel good.”_

“Now you’re just being a tease,” Stiles said, resting his cheek in one fist and holding back a sigh. No one was free for Solitaire. Oh well, he’d just play alone, he supposed. “How do you want me today? On my knees? You always say you like my voice, but imagine what my mouth can do.”

_“I’d prefer to hear you speak. I like the sound of your voice.”_

He could hear the strain in Wolf’s voice. Stiles was positive the man never touched himself until he made a comment about it. He always held back until Stiles said something that made him feel he was allowed to touch. It was actually a little intimate, when he thought about it. Most people were already going at it when Stiles picked up the line.

“The usual it is. I think you just like how hard it is for me to get my hand around your cock. Or maybe it’s how tightly I squeeze. It feels so good having you push into me like that.”

Wolf’s breathing was starting to increase in speed, and it was obvious he was starting to jerk himself off, now. Stiles kept whispering things into his headset, scowling at his game and annoyed when he eventually lost and had to restart it.

He could hear Wolf’s grunts become more frequent and he knew he was close. Stiles just kept urging him on, begging for him to just come, to release, to fill him up. He kept saying as many dirty things as he could think of, because he’d really been running low on his repertoire with someone who called literally every day he worked.

Eventually, Wolf let out a harsh exhale, almost moaning into the phone, and then his breathing began to ring down the line, hot and wet and _fast_. Stiles just listened to him dispassionately, cheek still resting against his fist while he tried again at Solitaire. He was doing better this round, but he wasn’t going to get his hopes up. Solo Solitaire was always harder for him to win. He felt like it was because there was no challenge. He was competitive by nature.

When Wolf’s panting on the other end began to slow ever so slightly, Stiles straightened and inhaled, about to thank him when he spoke.

_“Spark?”_

He always stopped him right before he was about to say his closing line and hang up.

“Yes?”

There was silence, Stiles frowning. He was about to ask if everything was okay when Wolf spoke.

_“Can we do another round?”_

That was new.

“I’d ask if you were up for another round, but I’m sure you’re almost back at full attention,” Stiles said, having to grin to get his voice to sound the way it came out. “I’m more than ready for round two if you are.”

 _“Yeah,”_ Wolf said, sounding fucking debauched. _“I’d like that.”_

“Mm, me too.”

Stupid fucking Solitaire.

It was all Stiles could focus on during the second round, because how could he suck so bad when he wasn’t playing against anyone? He was going to have to talk to Tara about increasing the games they had on the system. Technically he could pull out his phone and play a game on there, but he didn’t like wasting the battery.

Wolf didn’t last long this time around, and before Stiles hung up, he heard him whisper an apology and he cut off the call before Stiles could even thank him for calling. He frowned, wondering if everyone he was speaking to today was going to be acting weird.

His next regular seemed to be fine, though, so he just got through that call as normal. Then the next one. And the next one. He watched the clock when one in the morning was nearing, tired and his throat sore. He just wanted to go home and go to bed.

He was in the middle of a call when it finally hit the end of his shift and he silently thrust both fists in the air, finishing the guy off as fast as he could and thanking him for calling before hanging up.

He called Braeden to let her know he was done, then called Tara, waiting for her confirmation that he could exit and make a break for it. Once he was outside, he rearranged the bat in his hand and wandered down the street, being sure to keep an eye on everything around him.

Whenever a car slowed near him, he always moved further into the sidewalk. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew Gerard was just biding his time. Until he made his move, Stiles was going to be on alert. Sure, it had been months and he was starting to get annoyed having to be hyper-vigilant, but better that than dead.

Not that he thought Gerard would kill him.

Maybe. He wasn’t sure, actually. He just knew he didn’t want an old, wrinkly cock in his hole, whether he was being choked or not. He was prime real estate, only the best for Stiles Stilinski.

He had no idea _who_  he considered to be ‘the best,’ but well... he was sure someone was out there for him. Male or female, he wasn’t picky. Lydia, once upon a time, but she’d moved away and had apparently married some basketball player or something. She was living the dream as a trophy wife somewhere.

As long as she was happy, though how anyone could be happy with that life, he wasn’t sure.

Reaching the brightly lit lot with his Jeep, he flipped his keys in his hands and headed towards it. When he got to the driver’s side and unlocked the door, he paused and turned when he thought he heard something, scanning the area. It looked empty, but there were a lot of pillars, and other parked cars.

“Hello?” The second the word left his mouth, he wanted to punch himself in the face. Only idiots in horror movies called out like that, what the hell! Was he the idiot in a horror movie? No! He was the spastic nerd who always survived to the end of the movie!

Pulling open his door while keeping an eye on the space behind him, he tossed his bag and the bat into the passenger seat and climbed in quickly, slamming the door shut and locking it. Starting the car, he shifted out of park and started forward when a loud crunching sound emanated from the back side of his Jeep.

His heart lurched into his chest and he started to reach for the handle when he paused. He looked out towards where he’d heard the sound again, but it was still empty. He didn’t know why, but his alarms were blaring and he didn’t think it would be a good idea to get out of the car.

Shifting back into park, he climbed over into the passenger side, sitting on his messenger bag, and tried to look out the window. He couldn’t see anything, so he rolled it down just enough to stick his head out, making sure the area was clear, and glanced at where the crunching sound had come from.

There was a plastic water bottle wedged in the back wheel-well. When he’d moved the car forward, it had crushed the bottle between the wheel and the car, making it sound like something had broken.

Pulling his head back into the Jeep and rolling up the window, he looked around again to be sure he was alone, then climbed into the back seat. He pushed open the back door and quickly reached out, yanking the bottle free and tossing it away, then slamming and locking the door again.

It could’ve just been a coincidence, but his dad had always told him to trust his gut, and his gut was in knots right now so he didn’t want to leave the car.

He was pulling out his phone when he moved back into the driver’s seat, dialling Tara while looking around and setting it on speaker. He placed it on his lap, then shifted back into drive, easing his way out of the parking spot and through the lot. A part of him was surprised his car was running at all, he kind of felt like someone might have sabotaged it to strand him.

_“You make it to your car okay?”_

“Can you stay on the phone with me for a bit?” he asked, looking around and speeding up a little. He wanted to get home right now.

 _“Is everything okay? What happened?”_ Sometimes he forgot Tara used to be a cop until she said things like that. Her tone took on the same inflections as his dad when he went into sheriff mode.

“It’s probably nothing and I’m being paranoid, but just bear with me for a bit, okay?”

_“I’ll stay on until you get home.”_

“I don’t nee—”

_“Stiles. I am staying on this phone with you until you get home.”_

He smiled slightly. “Thanks.” He looked both ways at the exit to the lot, then pulled onto the main road and started for home. “So, how’s your night?”

Tara laughed and started talking to him about budgets and pay for the staff. Apparently there was a huge bid for a Nespresso coffee machine. They had a regular coffee machine, but some of the girls really wanted one of those pod things. High end coffee, they called it. Tara said it was in the budget, but she wasn’t sure how much use it would really get since not many people actually drank the coffee in the break room.

Stiles insisted it was because the coffee sucked.

They chatted about nothing in particular the whole way home, and Tara wouldn’t let him hang up until he was physically in his house with the door locked. He thanked her for understanding and she just reminded him she was a woman and those instincts were natural.

Wishing her a good night, Stiles hung up and headed upstairs to his room, dropping his bag by his bedroom door and plugging his phone in to charge. He took a quick shower, trying to wash away all the words he’d heard over the course of the evening, and then dried off. He brushed his teeth and got dressed for bed in record time and fell onto his covers, rolling around to cocoon himself in them and nuzzling into his pillow, more than ready for sleep.

He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, but he woke with a start when his cell phone rang, groaning and reaching out behind himself without turning for it. He finally found it, yanking hard to get it unplugged and hoping he didn’t break the cord. He heard something clatter to the ground, so probably not.

Pulling the phone in front of his face, he blinked blearily at it, seeing it was just after three in the morning.

The caller showed as “unknown.”

Frowning, he debated whether or not to answer, then finally sighed and swiped the bottom, putting the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” he asked, voice scratchy with sleep.

He heard nothing on the other end, frowning slightly. Was he getting a fucking scam call at three in the God damn morning?

“Hello?” he asked again, a little louder.

This time, he heard someone breathing, the sound making the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

“Who is this?”

The line clicked and the call ended. Stiles sat up and immediately dialled his dad, putting the phone back to his ear.

_“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”_

“I just got a weird call,” Stiles said, scrubbing the sleep from his face. “I answered it and heard someone breathing, and when I asked who it was, they hung up.”

_“When did this happen?”_

“Just now.”

_“Do you have a number?”_

“No, it just showed ‘unknown’ on my screen.”

_“I’ll send Parrish over, stay on the phone with me until he gets there.”_

“Sure.”

The bottle in the wheel-well and the mouth-breather happening on the same night couldn’t be a coincidence.

Maybe Gerard wasn’t as finished with him as he thought he was.

* * *

He was going to hell. He knew he was going to hell. He’d known it since the first day he’d picked up the phone to call Spark with the intention of getting off to the sound of his voice.

It had been bad back then. It had been unforgivable. It had been the worst thing he had ever done that he could think of.

But this was worse. This was a million times worse.

Because even as he listened to the voice whispering dirty things in his ear, his eyes closed and his hand around his dick, all he could picture was that crooked grin, those sparkling eyes, those fucking _hands_!

Whenever Stiles commented on how he was riding him, how he was clenching around him, Derek could fucking _see_ it behind his closed lids. He could see that toned body on top of him, moving up and down, head thrown back and gasping pants escaping parted lips. He could picture every fucking second of this as if Stiles were actually _right fucking there_.

But this was the last time.

This was it.

Derek had been doing this for weeks, picturing Stiles, listening to his voice, imagining not a faceless person but the sheriff’s son, _the fucking sheriff’s **son**_! Because he was so fucking perfect, and Derek was a sick, _sick_  motherfucker and he had to stop this, he did.

And he’d promised Stiles that he would. He’d promised him that by the time they spoke again the following week, he would come clean.

It was why he’d called as Wolf first. Because he needed it just one last time. Just once more before he lost this. He wasn’t stupid, he knew he was going to lose this. He was a disgusting piece of shit, and he’d _lied_ , and he knew who Stiles was and...

He let out a grunt, hips arching off the bed and cum coating his hand, some going up along his abdomen, mixing with the sweat pooling in his belly button. His eyes were clenched so tightly he saw colours behind his lids, but all he could picture while listening to Stiles breathe on the other end was having him above him, head thrown back in pleasure, body spasming with his own orgasm, and fuck.

 _Fuck_.

It took him a few seconds to remember how to hold a phone properly, loosening his grip on it while he slowly stroked himself, body trembling at the oversensitiveness of his cock.

Stiles, as always, was patient on the other end.

 _“Was it good for you?”_ he purred down the line when Derek had a bit of control back.

“The best,” he admitted, feeling his gut twist.

_“You flatter me. Thank you for—”_

“Spark,” he interrupted, the other humming in acknowledgement. “This is the last time I’m going to call you.”

_“Is that right? That’s a shame, we were just starting to have fun together. But I understand, you probably have tons of other people who want to worship your cock like I do.”_

“I’m doing this for you,” he said quietly, and before Stiles could ask what he meant, he continued. “I will never find anyone like you ever again. Thank you for everything. I’m sorry.”

He hung up.

Letting the phone drop onto the pillow beside his head, he rubbed his face with his clean hand and let out a slow breath.

He was scared. He was scared to call back as Derek. He was scared to tell Stiles the truth.

But he had to. He’d promised him that he would, and if nothing else, he could keep at least _one_ fucking promise he’d made him.

Climbing out of bed on shaky legs, Derek made his way to the bathroom to clean himself off, being sure to get every last drop of cum off his body. And for good measure, he took a shower. Then he started a load of laundry. Then he grabbed a snack, because he was hungry.

After that, he checked his work emails. He also put away the voice modulator. And got some workout clothes ready for the gym the following day. And then went to check the fridge so he could make a grocery list.

Derek did everything he could think of to procrastinate this call, because he didn’t want to make it. He didn’t. But he had to.

And he hated that.

It was almost eight by the time he actually sat down on the couch in a pair of loose sweats and a wifebeater, staring at his new television, his reflection looking back at him in the dark screen. He looked down at his phone, rubbed one hand over his face, then found the contact for Magical Encounters. It took a conscious effort for him to actually hit the call button, and when he put the phone to his ear, he almost hung up again when the receptionist answered.

_“Hello, thank you for calling Magical Encounters. How may we serve you?”_

“It’s Derek,” he said, voice subdued even to his own ears. “Thank you for putting up with me the past few months. I know your job can’t be easy, but you do it extremely well.”

She was silent on the other end, like she had no idea what to say.

“If it’s not too much trouble, I know I’m late, but I’d like to speak to Spark. I can hold.”

Another brief silence. _“Sure,”_ she said quietly. _“I’ll patch you through.”_

“Thank you.”

He waited for the elevator music, but it didn’t come. He frowned, and realized she was still on the line.

 _“He says nothing but good things about you, you know,”_ she said, her voice coming out normal, if a little softly. _“You’re the highlight of his week.”_

“Not for long,” he said.

She didn’t respond, and he waited for a few more seconds. The elevator music cut on moments later, like she had no idea how to respond to that. He figured she was probably going to tell Stiles something was wrong, and he was proven correct when he answered the call seven minutes later sounding worried.

_“Derek? What happened? Trixie said you sounded off. Is everything okay? Did you talk to your friend?”_

“Not yet,” he said, closing his eyes and covering them with his free hand, listening to that voice.

The voice that made everything so much better. Even when it wasn’t whispering dirty things, even when he was just talking about nothing. He loved that voice. He loved the person attached to it.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He loved him, and he knew he wasn’t allowed to do that. Because he and Stiles didn’t know each other, not really. Stiles had no idea he was Derek Hale, just like Derek had previously had no idea he was Stiles Stilinski. But now Derek knew, and Stiles didn’t, and it wasn’t fair.

And he didn’t know what to do. How to feel. Because he loved him, and he’d never loved anyone before, and he didn’t even know how to deal with this and he was so fucking _scared_  right now.

 _“Did you have another bad day?”_ Stiles asked, sounding hesitant.

Derek let out a slow breath, removing the hand from his eyes so he could run it up into his hair, dragging his fingers through the strands.

“We need to talk.”

 _“There has never been any conversation on the planet that has ended well with those words being the starting point,”_ Stiles said quietly.

“I did something,” Derek admitted softly.

 _“Did something in what way?”_ Stiles asked. _“If you murdered a guy, please don’t tell me, I’d have to report that and honestly, I like you too much to be put in that position.”_

Derek closed his eyes again, hand still in his hair, clenching at the strands, head bowed. “I’m really sorry, Spark. I didn’t know how to ask you.”

_“Ask me what?”_

Derek had to rip it off, like a fucking bandaid. “I really like you. I like your voice, I like who you _are_. I wanted to try it, and I didn’t know how to ask, and I didn’t want to do that to you. I called once, it was just supposed to be once, but it got out of hand, and I couldn’t stop, and then I just kept calling and calling. I tried to stop, I really did, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop, and I’m so sorry.”

Spark was silent for a moment, and when he spoke next, he sounded confused. _“Derek, I’m not—I don’t really know where you’re going with this. I mean... you call me every Friday, this has been going on for months, I’m not...”_ He let out a small puff of air, like he had no idea what else to say.

Like he didn’t understand what Derek was trying to tell him.

And that only made it worse.

“I do call you every Friday,” Derek confirmed. “I call you every Friday because I like hearing your voice. Because I care about you, and I want to talk to you, get to know you. I want to—” Derek cut himself off, because he was procrastinating again. He grit his teeth, and just said it. “I call you every Friday. But I also call on Mondays. And Tuesdays. And every other day of the week that you’re working.”

Stiles’ silence this time was more weighted. _“What?”_

“I’ve been calling you every day,” Derek admitted quietly. “Every fucking day, Spark. But not as Derek. I’ve been calling you as someone else.”

Another long silence, and when Stiles spoke again, Derek’s chest ached at the coldness in his tone. _“Wolf.”_

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Wolf.”

 _“Now I get why he kept apologizing,”_ Stiles said dryly.

“It wasn’t supposed to be that way,” Derek insisted, sitting up and rubbing his free hand along his thigh, then raking it through his hair again. “Spark, I had a bad day. It was–it was just _one_ bad day. And I wanted to talk to you, and I was so fucking _horny_ , and I couldn’t figure out how to ask. I didn’t want to ask, so I just—it was never meant to get that out of control. It was only supposed to be the one time. But then I heard you, and you were _so good_ , Spark. You were everything I needed, and I—Just the one time. I just wanted to do it the one time.” He licked his lips, rubbing at his face. Shit. _Shit_! “But then I had another bad day, and I needed you again. And I had promised myself I’d never do it again, I promised I wouldn’t do that to _you_. But you have no idea how much you helped me, you have no idea how _important_  you are to me. And then it just... I couldn’t stop. I just couldn’t figure out how to stop. Because I get it, now. I get sex addicts, because once you have something that fucking good, it’s like a God damn drug, it’s an addiction, and you can’t stop. And I tried. I wanted to. I felt sick every time I hung up afterwards because you didn’t deserve that. You didn’t. You deserved honesty, and respect, and I _hate_  myself for what I did, but I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Spark, and I just—I can’t. I don’t want this to stop. I want to keep talking to you, and I promise, I _promise_  I won’t ever do it again.”

Suddenly, the realization that he was about to lose someone he cared so much for was actually starting to scare him. He’d been afraid before, but now that he was speaking the words, now that they were _out_ , that Stiles _knew_ , it was so much worse.

So, _so_  much worse.

“Please don’t—Spark, please don’t end this. Please let me talk to you, I _need_  you. You are the only good thing in my life right now, and I can’t—I shouldn’t have, and I know it, but I did, and I can’t take it back, and I’m so fucking sorry. I’m _so_  sorry, Spark.”

He felt so fucking exposed and he didn’t even know how to handle it. Stiles had no idea who he was, he had no idea how hard it was for Derek to be saying all of this to him. To admit how important he was, how much he _mattered_. Everyone Derek had ever cared about kept disappearing on him. He was so afraid of letting anyone in, even people he’d known his whole life, because he was scared of losing them.

He never wanted to feel that level of pain again. It was why he held everyone at arm’s length. Why he and Erica didn’t hang out as much as he knew they should. Why he didn’t talk to Peter as often as he was sure his uncle would like. Why he’d decided to call a fucking phone number on a website instead of going out to _find_  someone. Because he was scared of being hurt again, and sitting there, baring his soul and apologizing...

He was going to lose him. He was going to lose Stiles, and it was going to hurt, and he wasn’t going to know how to handle that.

“Spark, _please_ ,” Derek insisted when the silence stretched for too long. “Please, just—say something.”

For a few seconds, the line was dead silent, and Derek almost thought he’d hung up. But then, he heard him inhale, and Stiles spoke.

 _“What do you want me to say?”_ he asked, voice hard. _“Do you want me to tell you how you do me so fucking good?”_

Derek’s heart clenched in his chest and he covered his eyes with his free hand, the other clenching tightly around the phone.

No.

No, no, no.

_“Or comment on how big your cock is? Your fucking monster cock? How about how I can clench while riding you, just how you like it? Is that what you want to hear, Derek? Want me to moan a little?”_

“Spark, please.”

 _“Oh, you want me to beg? I can beg. I’m real good at it.”_ Spark’s voice lowered, taking on his usual service voice, but with a hard edge. _“Fuck, you’re so fucking good to me, Derek. You fill me up so good, Derek. I’ve never had someone do me like you. Does that turn you on, Derek? Can you feel me riding your cock? Do you like it?”_

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Derek insisted, jerking to his feet and beginning to pace, free hand back in his hair. “Spark, it was just meant to be _one time_.”

 _“One time?”_ he demanded, voice returning to normal, and sounding _furious_. _“One fucking time? Funny how one time turned into two. And then three. And four, five, six. You were supposed to be fucking **different** , Derek! You were the **only**  thing that kept me going in this fucking job! The knowledge that on Fridays, for half an hour, for just half a **fucking**  hour, I could have a decent conversation with someone who appreciated me because of **me** , and not because I could get them off.”_

“I _do_ ,” Derek insisted. “Spark, you have no idea how badly I _didn’t_ want to tell you this! How _bad_ I felt! How much I wish I could take it back! It took _everything_ I had to admit this to you because I _care_ about you!”

_“But not enough to skip today’s call, right Wolf?”_

Hearing that hurt, but only because he was right. Derek had still called, he’d still jerked off listening to him, he’d still _taken_  from him when Stiles didn’t even know he was giving it.

 _“Was it good for you, Derek?”_ Stiles asked, voice low and dangerous. _“Tell me how good it was, Derek. Tell me how I’m the **best**  you ever fucking had.”_

“Please,” Derek whispered, feeling his chest beginning to ache. “Stiles, _please_ , I just—”

 _“What?”_  Stiles asked, tone shifting. Derek frowned, because the anger had disappeared in an instant, and the way Stiles’ breathing shifted wasn’t in anger.

It was in fear.

_“What the fuck did you just call me?”_

“I don’t—” Derek froze.

He hadn’t said Spark.

He’d said _Stiles_.

“Wait. Stiles, _wait_ , it’s not what you think, I wasn’t—”

_“Good evening.”_

Derek cut off, momentarily confused at the new voice, but he understood immediately when she continued to speak and felt his heart shatter.

Fuck. _Fuck_!

_“I’m very sorry, but we are going to have to cut this conversation short, I’m afraid. You are no longer welcome to call our service. If you do, we will have you traced. Please do not call again. Have a good night.”_

“Wait, wait, please, I didn’t—”

The line cut off and Derek stood motionless in his living room, phone at his ear and eyes on the floor. He let out a harsh exhale, pulling the phone away and staring down at it. It stayed lit on his home screen for a few seconds, then dimmed before finally going dark, now in sleep mode from lack of use.

Derek turned and hurled it at the wall, watching it smash to pieces.

* * *

In. Out. In. Out. He could do this. It was fine. Everything was fine. He just had to keep it going. In, and out. In, then out. Not too fast, he was going too fast. In, count to five, out, count to five. In, and out.

Stiles had both hands buried in his hair, head bowed and eyes closed while he struggled to breathe. Because he would _not_  have a panic attack. It was fine. This was fucking _fine_.

The door opened and he tensed, but he didn’t look up. It shut softly, then footsteps padded closer. A hand landed on his shoulder, and he could tell she’d crouched beside him.

“Stiles?” Tara said softly. “Sweetie, come on. Let’s get you home.”

Stiles couldn’t fucking _go_  home. Because everyone and their fucking _mother_  seemed to know who he was. He had a stalker who was intent on fucking choking him while fucking him, and now he had another one who’d been calling daily.

 _Daily_! While knowing who Stiles was! What he looked like! Listening to his voice and getting off to it and just—

“I don’t think I can work here anymore,” he said, voice coming out rough. All he could see behind his closed lids was his panicked message to Tara.

 **[Spark]**  
derek knowsmy name takemy line’!!!!!

This was fucked up. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was just a voice on the other end of the phone, he was providing a service. He was like the burger flipper at McDonalds, or the guy who bagged groceries at the store, or the fucking clerk in a God damn hotel.

This was a _job_. It was just a fucking job. It wasn’t supposed to _be_  like this!

“Come on, sweetie. Come on, let’s get you home.”

Tara was trying to get him out of the chair, but he refused to budge. He didn’t feel safe at home anymore. He didn’t feel safe _anywhere_  anymore. Why was this even happening? This was so fucking stupid.

“Braeden? I need you in here.”

Stiles hadn’t even heard Tara pick up the phone, but he was a little fucked up in the head, so he shouldn’t have been surprised.

She showed up moments later. They were talking to each other, but he couldn’t really hear them. All he could think about was how often Wolf, Derek, _whoever_ , had called. Every day, and twice on Fridays. Half an hour on Fridays, at least. Anywhere from fifteen to twenty-five minutes every other day.

How much money was that? That was so much fucking money. How much money did Derek have? What if he was...

Stiles felt like he was going to be sick.

What if he was Chris Argent?

What if he and his father were both fucking stalking him right now? He was going to puke. He was actually going to fucking puke.

He heard the door open, then shut, but someone was still beside him, rubbing his back, insisting he was okay. It was Braeden, which meant Tara had left the room. He didn’t care. He hoped she was going to get a gun or something. He felt like he needed a gun.

What was a fucking bat going to do against a weapons expert?!

Not that knew it was Chris or anything, but given his current track record, it was hard to think about anyone else.

Sure, Derek had said he was only twenty-eight but he could’ve lied. And how long had he knows about Stiles? How long had he been calling him, knowing exactly who he was?

One month? Two? Since the beginning?

The door opened, a minute, an hour, a day later and Braeden pulled away from him. A new hand landed on his back. Warm, familiar, comforting.

It slid up and down his spine a few times, then up to the back of his neck, gripping it tightly. That one action had every tense muscle in his body relax, because that grip was safety. That grip was love and comfort and protection.

“Come on, Stiles,” his dad said softly. “Let’s get you out of here.”

The only reason he was able to find his footing was because he hadn’t said ‘home.’ His dad had said they would leave, but he hadn’t said they were going home.

Stiles got to his feet unsteadily, his dad’s hand still gripping his neck. Tara held out his messenger bag and his dad took it with his free hand, nodding a curt thanks. He steered Stiles out of the room and down the familiar corridor to the end.

When they exited through the back door into the lot, two police cruisers were there, lights flashing but sirens off. Parrish was leaning against the furthest one, another deputy behind the wheel. The closest one was empty.

His dad opened the passenger-side door and eased Stiles into the seat, putting his messenger bag on the floor before crouching beside him.

“I need your keys.”

Stiles looked at him, then shifted and reached into his pocket, pulling his keys out and handing them over. His dad took them, stood, and shut the door.

He watched the sheriff head over to Parrish and pass over the keys. Stiles figured he and the other deputy were headed for his Jeep to pick it up. They had a short conversation, then parted ways, the sheriff turning and opening his door, climbing behind the wheel.

The car started, lights switching off, and his dad moved them smoothly out of the parking lot and onto the street. Parrish’s cruiser went the other way.

They were both silent while they drove, and Stiles felt anxiety building in his chest. His dad was probably furious. He’d lied to him, he’d downplayed some of the dangerous things happening at work, he was now being stalked by _two_  people. He was probably fuming.

“Dad—”

“Not tonight,” he said, cutting Stiles off. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

Stiles didn’t try again. He just leaned his forehead against the side window and watched the dark scenery pass them by.

When they reached the station, his dad exited the cruiser and waited for him to do the same, gripping the back of his neck like he always did, messenger bag in his other hand, and walked into the precinct with him. They bypassed all the hustle and bustle, heading straight for the sheriff’s office. His dad shut the door behind them and motioned the couch, setting Stiles’ bag down by the end of it.

“Get some sleep.”

“I don’t think I can,” he admitted.

“You can,” his dad promised, motioning it again while moving to the opposite end. He grabbed a blanket he had folded there, waited for Stiles to lie down on the couch, then threw it over him.

The guilt was almost overwhelming.

“Dad—”

“It’s okay, son,” he insisted, reaching out one hand to pat his cheek lightly. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk later.”

He turned and went over to his desk, taking a seat and putting his previously discarded glasses back on, pulling some paperwork over and beginning to scribble something on the page in front of him.

Stiles didn’t think he’d sleep. He was too anxious, and he felt guilty, and the place was loud even with the door closed.

Eventually he did pass out, but he woke every time someone walked into his dad’s office. One of those times was Parrish, confirming he’d parked the Jeep in the driveway and that he didn’t see anything suspicious. He handed Stiles’ keys over and then left.

Stiles didn’t know what time it was when he jerked awake, a hand on his shoulder. He stared up at his dad, who said it was time to go. Scrubbing the sleep from his face, he got to his feet and followed him back out to the cruiser, bag slung loosely over one shoulder and his dad’s hand at his neck. Stiles snoozed in the car, only vaguely aware of where they were going, and once they were home, his dad led him to his room and took his bag from his shoulder so he could fall onto his bed.

He passed out again almost immediately, still fully clothed, and was thankfully able to sleep without any unwelcome dreams.

He woke up hours later to the sun shining through his blinds and the distinct smell of coffee. And a full bladder.

Grunting while rolling himself to his feet, he rubbed his face with both hands while heading for his bedroom door, and froze before touching the handle.

His dad knew where he worked. Used to work? Didn’t matter. His dad _knew_.

Shit.

Sighing, Stiles exited his room to head for the bathroom. He relieved himself, then brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face. His clothes smelled okay, so he didn’t bother changing and just headed downstairs, moving towards the kitchen and pausing in the doorway.

His dad was sitting at the table, coffee by his elbow and some kind of report in front of him. He wordlessly pointed to the microwave, Stiles sighing and heading for it to grab whatever was inside. It looked like some kind of breakfast wrap, and when he touched it, he found it still warm so he pulled the plate out and went to sit at the table.

When he glanced at the papers in front of his dad, he realized it was a list of phone numbers.

Didn’t take a genius to know what he was doing.

“That’s illegal.”

“You don’t know that,” his dad replied.

“I know you didn’t get a warrant for those numbers.”

“Didn’t have to, Tara offered them up.”

Well, her clientèle wasn’t going to be happy if word got out about that.

He took a bite of his breakfast, chewing slowly while watching his dad compare pages. Every now and then he would mark something down or highlight a number, but Stiles couldn’t tell what he was doing upside down.

Stiles was finished the wrap by the time his dad set his pen down and looked up at him, folding his hands together.

For a long while, he said nothing. He just stared intently at him, as if waiting for Stiles to crack first. He looked down into his plate and played with some pieces of tortilla that had flaked off from his wrap.

“You’re grounded,” he finally said after a tense silence.

Stiles glanced up at him, frowning. “I’m twenty-five years old,” he reminded his dad. “You can’t ground me.”

His father leaned forward, eyes darkening threateningly and stabbed one finger against the table. “You are living under _my_  roof,” he snarled, “which makes you eligible for grounding. You are _grounded_!”

Stiles could see a vein pulsing in his father’s forehead and thought it best not to argue.

“Okay. Yup. Understood. Grounded.”

“What were you thinking?” he demanded, voice rising slightly but still not quite yelling. “Stiles, what the _hell_  were you thinking?!”

“It was just a job,” he insisted.

“It’s never _just_  a job somewhere like that, Stiles! Christ!” He rubbed at his face with one hand, falling backwards in his chair. “How long? A month? Two?”

Stiles winced.

“You never worked for the Hales, did you?”

He shook his head, feeling two inches tall.

“So since the beginning. All this time, and you didn’t tell me. _Tara_  didn’t tell me!”

“Don’t get mad at her, it’s my—”

“You don’t get to speak right now,” his dad said loudly, pointing a finger at him. “You get to sit there and listen until I say so. Understood?”

“Dad—”

“Understood?!”

He really didn’t want his dad to have a heart attack right now so he just sighed and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms.

“Stiles, I don’t care what you want to do with your time. I don’t care where you want to work. You can be a stripper, or a prostitute or a fucking arms dealer, I don’t care. I’m not judging the choice you made, I’m pissed off you didn’t tell me. Those places are _dangerous_ , Stiles. Stalkers and threats and rapes, they happen to people in that industry all the time. It was bad when I thought it was happening at a respectable firm, but now it’s worse than you even think. You think it’s one stalker, Stiles? It’s not. It’s ten, or twenty, or _thirty_. Because these people get obsessed. They get possessive, and entitled, and eventually they get _dangerous_. Because after a point, they don’t separate fiction from reality, they think it’s all _real_. And then they call you one day, and you forget their name by accident, and they get angry. Violent. They accuse you of cheating on them, of breaking their heart, leading them on. Then they find you, and they hurt you as much as they think you’ve hurt them. Beacon Hills is not a big place, Stiles. People know it was you. People recognized your voice. And a lot of them probably view you as theirs. They think you belong to them, that you _owe_  them. This has been happening since the beginning, and you _never told me_!”

Stiles couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t, because his stomach was twisting uncomfortably and he felt guilt gnawing at his insides.

He knew things could get bad. Like with Angel, who moved away. And with some of the other girls, who were harassed as much as he was. He knew this wasn’t just his dad trying to make him feel bad, it was a legitimate concern.

“Stiles, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I knew you wouldn’t approve,” Stiles said quietly, still not looking at him. “And we needed the money.”

“I would rather be struggling to make ends meet and have my son alive and well, than have all the money in the world and lose you.” The sheriff reached across the table, patting his cheek once and sighed, then rubbed his face with both hands. “You’re still grounded, and I’m still pissed, but we need to get this under control. Tara said there are two stalkers that she knows of, two people who know your real name. So now, you’re going to tell me everything.”

Stiles winced, not really wanting to talk about this right now. Derek’s betrayal was still extremely raw, not to mention he now also knew Derek was a fucking creepy ass stalker. He wondered which numbers on that page belonged to him.

He wondered if his dad already knew who he really was.

“One of them is Gerard Argent,” he said quietly.

“Tara said. I’m working on proving that.” His father took out a notebook and uncapped his pen, beginning to take shorthand notes. “Tell me about your calls with Gerard.”

Stiles knew he was setting himself up for another explosion, but he had to be honest, now. Things were getting out of hand, and if he had _two_  people to look out for, it would be best for his father to know _why_.

“It was fine at first,” he admitted. “Gerard would call, and he was like anyone else. He talked about things he wanted me to do for him, and I just did my job. But then sometimes he would also pepper in questions about me. What I looked like, where I went to high school, if we could meet up in person, things like that. It’s not really that unusual, I used to get that from a few people sometimes, but it was more aggressive with Gerard. He wouldn’t really take no for an answer and he would get sharp with me, start to threaten me.”

“Threaten you how?” his father asked, eyes on his notebook and voice level. He was in sheriff mode, and it was obvious he was trying to detach himself a little bit.

“He would just say things like he could buy Magical Encounters if he wanted to, bribe someone, force someone’s hand. I should just play nice and tell him what he wanted to know, he was a paying customer. Things like that.”

“Tara said it started escalating so she wanted you to talk to me.” He looked up then. “You did, if memory serves. About one of her staff being harassed.”

“Yeah.” Stiles winced. “Um, it started—Tara started taking my line over when he got... more aggressive.”

His dad was still staring at him, waiting for him to proceed and Stiles let out a small sigh. He was about to get yelled at.

“He started calling and saying things like-like he would love to fuck me with his hands wrapped around my throat.” Stiles looked somewhere other than his dad, because he could see his face hardening. “That my skin would look nice bruised and covered in cuts. That blood was a nice look for me. He would call every now and then and ask me to beg for air, tell me he couldn’t wait for a chance to slide his dick in me while I clawed at his arms in an attempt to breathe.” He made a face at the thought. “A few weeks later is when the slashed tires happened. And Gerard was there. And then Peter Hale showed up and stopped him from doing anything. And a while later, when my crazy stalker called again, I called him out on it. I called him Gerard. And he admitted it to me. And then he threatened you, he said he’d get you fired, have your next election go poorly, that he’d ruin everything. So I threatened him back and he never called again. I mean, I think. There was that one call to my cell phone with the breathing, but I don’t—that could’ve been anyone. I think he’s done, I just—I don’t know.”

Without a word, his father picked up a piece of paper and flipped it around, sliding it closer to Stiles. He looked at him, then down at the page, where one of the numbers was highlighted.

“That’s the same number that called your cell,” his dad informed him.

“Do we know who it is?”

“It’s an unregistered number, so it’s either a burner, or whoever owns that number is paying a lot of money to make sure it stays unregistered. I can’t get a name without a warrant, and I don’t have enough for one.”

So it was likely Gerard. He had Stiles’ mobile number. That was terrific.

“I’m guessing his confession doesn’t count since we can’t prove it?” Stiles asked quietly. Because he knew the calls at Magical Encounters weren’t recorded. That wasn’t permitted, and Tara would never break that law. Anything that is recorded is required to be announced at the start of a call, and no one would call if it was recorded.

“No, it doesn’t.” The sheriff pulled the page back over and folded his hands together, staring Stiles down angrily. “He’s threatened to hurt you.”

“Yeah,” Stiles admitted. “I talked to Tara about it, I just didn’t—I felt like it wasn’t a big deal at the time, so I didn’t mention how bad it was getting, just that he made me uncomfortable.”

“So you downplayed how serious this was,” his dad concluded.

Stiles let out a small breath, as if trying to argue, then realized he had no grounds for it and instead said, “That depends on how you define downplaying.”

“I define it as pretending something is less serious than it actually is, how do you define it?” his father asked darkly.

Stiles stared for a second. “As a play about being down. Depression is an important topic in this day and age.”

“Stiles,” his dad said sharply. “I know your default is to be sarcastic or brush uncomfortable topics aside, but this is _serious_. Someone threatened to hurt you, and you didn’t _tell_  anyone.”

“I told Derek.” The words were out before he could stop them, and it didn’t seem to help his father’s mood.

“We’ll get to him. We’re not done with Argent.” He picked his pen back up, and began asking more questions. Stiles answered them as best he could, his memory on the calls not as sharp as he was sure his father would’ve liked, but Gerard had been calling for months. It was impossible for Stiles to remember every interaction they’d ever had.

When they moved to Derek, it hurt. A lot. Because he’d thought Derek was different. They’d had a good thing going for such a long time, and it was hard to realize it was all a lie. They had never been friends, not really, but they’d been _something_. And to realize that all that time, Derek had been calling him as another person to jerk off—it hurt.

He acknowledged that it hadn’t been like that at the beginning, because Wolf hadn’t appeared until way later in their ‘friendship,’ but that didn’t mean he hadn’t called before as someone different, jerking off to the sound of Stiles’ voice, betraying him over and over again.

He knew it was stupid to be upset about it, because this was his job, and Derek technically hadn’t been doing anything wrong, but it _felt_  wrong. And different. Derek had insisted he was calling just to chat and get people off his back. He was adamant that he wasn’t into that sort of thing, that he’d never do that with Stiles.

And then he had. Daily. For weeks.

And then he’d said Stiles’ name.

How long had he known about Stiles? Had he been picturing him every time Stiles spoke in his ear? Had he been imagining Stiles on top of him? It was disgusting to think about when people didn’t know what he looked like, but to realize both Argent _and_  Derek had been picturing _him_  while jerking off made him feel dirty. It made him feel defiled, like people had been touching him all over without his permission.

When his father was finally satisfied with the information he had, Stiles went upstairs to shower, since he hadn’t for the first time before going to bed. He scrubbed at his skin until it turned red, angry lines appearing along the pale surface. It didn’t matter how hard he rubbed the soap against his skin, he still felt like someone was running their hands all along every available surface. Like they were in his hair, tugging it. Hands on his hips, forcing them down, or back, a dick sliding into him. He could feel hot, disgusting breath against his ear, asking him to beg louder.

Stiles threw the soap against the wall and slid down so he was sitting in the tub, raking one hand through his hair, the other arm wrapped around his knees.

This was stupid. It was disgusting and stupid and fucking gross. He didn’t understand people. He was just a guy on the other end of the phone, he wasn’t anyone to stalk or fantasize about. He was just someone doing a job.

Why was this fucking happening to him? 

**TBC...  
** ~~**(To be fair to Ao3 this time, this one is really** **long)**~~


	2. Chapter 2

“Well maybe there wouldn’t be this many fucking issues if you knew how to do your God damn _job_!” Derek yelled into the phone. “It’s your ass on the line when you sign off on that paperwork, so figure your damn job out and call me back when you have something constructive to say!”

Slamming the receiver down on the base, he turned to pull up his emails, finding the SVP of their Administrations department and double-clicking his contact for his extension. He picked his phone back up and dialled it, the line clicking on the other end.

“I got another fucking complaint about your group. I’m getting really tired of hearing about how fucking incompetent you all are. Get your staff under control, and fire the incompetent people before I come up there and fire the whole fucking floor!”

He slammed the phone down again, then turned back to his email, opening another stupid complaint and beginning to write out an angry email response. He was halfway through it when his computer suddenly stopped cooperating and the lock-screen appeared. A little icon at the bottom denoted that someone from the IT department had taken over his computer.

Turning to pick up his phone so he could yell for their manager and fire the person who’d _dared_  lock him out, someone appeared beside him and slammed their hand on the receiver so he couldn’t pick it up.

He turned furious eyes on Erica, who stared down at him with a scowl.

“Get out of my office. Now.”

“Derek, I know you’re my boss, and as my boss, I respect your decisions when it comes to how to run this side of the company. But you’re also my friend, and as my friend, I need to ask you what the actual _fuck_  you think you’re doing right now.”

“Working,” he snarled.

“No, Derek. This isn’t you _working_. You have been yelling and snarling at people for _days_. You swore multiple times, calling people fucking idiots, and incompetent, and degrading them for doing their jobs to the best of their ability. You’re acting like Garrett Douglas. You remember him, right? Fired for misconduct?”

“I’m one of the owners, I can’t get fired,” he reminded her, practically baring his teeth.

“No, but you can get bought out, which is what Peter is going to do if you don’t calm the fuck down. He’s the one who called me to get you back under control before he has you escorted from the building.”

Derek’s temper went through the roof and he was on his feet instantly. “He fucking _what_?!”

“Sit down!” Erica snapped, shoving him hard enough to get him back in his chair, balance lost. “Derek, something is _clearly_  going on right now, and no one has the patience for your temper tantrum! So you’re going to pack up your shit, leave this office, and we are going to go to my place where we will sit and talk this out before you destroy _everything_. You are _ruining_  your reputation, compromising your business, pushing away your _friends_. You are spiralling, and so help me, I would rather fucking _die_  than lose you like I did Cora!”

His sister’s name was like a knife right through the chest. For a second, it was hard to breathe, but when the pain passed, the anger was back, face distorted and mouth opening for another round.

“Shut up, Derek!” Erica screamed, voice shrill. “Shut the fuck up, pack your shit, and let’s _go_! Now!”

“Unless you’d rather I make you.”

Derek turned to the door, and found Boyd leaning sideways against the jamb, arms crossed and expression hard. He should’ve been at a work function a few towns over. Erica had been bitching about his departure for months, because he was supposed to be away for over two weeks, and she was so in love with the guy it made her intolerable when he was gone.

The fact that he was here now felt like some kind of stupid intervention.

“I’m just having a bad day,” he snapped in response.

“It’s been a bad day for a week, then,” Boyd informed him. “You know we respect you enough to wait for you to come to us for help when you need it. We know things have been different since the fire, that you changed, but you were getting better. And the past few months, you’ve been like a different person. You were back to being the Derek we were all friends with in high school, the Derek that we grew up with. And now, you’re almost worse than the Derek who had to live with his family’s deaths. That Derek was just bitter and closed off. This Derek is angry and condescending.”

“They’re all me,” Derek snapped. “There is no ‘this Derek’ and ‘that Derek’ or whatever other bullshit. This is who I am, and if you don’t like it, you can get the fuck out of my office.”

“You’re leaving with us, even if we have to drag you out of here,” Erica informed him. “And I think that’d be pretty embarrassing for you, don’t you?”

Derek wouldn’t have worried about it being true if not for the fact that Boyd had done that once before. It had been during their university years, so a long time ago, but Boyd had always been stronger than him. He doubted that had changed over the years, especially given he did a lot of manual labour for his job and Derek just sat behind a desk.

He wasn’t going to win this fight, and he was locked out of his computer. He literally had nothing to do, now.

Standing, Erica took a step away so he had room to turn and grab his briefcase, angrily shoving papers into it and getting his things squared away. He slammed it shut, grabbed his suit jacket and yanked it on. He took the handle in his hand and stormed to the office door, Boyd stepping aside to let him through. Derek and Boyd made it to the elevators first, since Erica had detoured to grab her purse and jacket. She caught up to them just as the lift arrived.

They went to the garage, and Boyd got into Derek’s car with him, even though Derek would’ve rather been alone. He assumed it was to ensure he would actually go to Erica and Boyd’s place as opposed to barricading himself in his own apartment.

Erica was following them in her own car. Derek figured Boyd had either gotten a ride, or he was leaving his car behind. Didn’t matter.

They made it all the way to Erica and Boyd’s apartment, Derek parking in the visitor’s underground lot while Erica continued on into the locked parkade for residents. Boyd led him through the locked doors and they caught up to Erica in the atrium, waiting for the elevator.

When they were finally inside the apartment, Derek dropped his things unceremoniously on the floor by the couch and fell onto it, crossing his arms like a child and scowling angrily across the room at nothing.

Erica took a seat beside him while Boyd tinkered about in the kitchen. He came back out with two beers and some sparkling water for Erica, which was interesting since she was a huge lover of beer, but not something he was willing to think on too much right then.

Boyd sat down on his other side, he and Erica saying nothing while they watched Derek fume, his beer untouched on the coffee table in front of him.

“What happened?” Erica asked after a long silence.

Derek had never said he was going to admit anything to them, he’d just left with them so he didn’t get dragged out in front of the whole fucking building. Now that he was there, he wasn’t going to tell them a single damn thing.

And he managed that for a long time. He’d sat there silently, ignoring their attempts to coax him to speak, and pretending the wall across from him was the most fascinating thing he’d seen in a while. After two hours, they gave up and Boyd made lunch while Erica put on a movie for them to watch.

Isaac showed up after five, and he and Boyd stayed in the kitchen making dinner and speaking in low tones, most likely about Derek. Erica ignored everyone, mostly, focussed entirely on the movie they were watching.

It was some kind of romcom, which Derek hated, and the closer it got to the end, with everything working out and the guy getting the girl, the more annoyed he got. Eventually, when the girl forgave the guy for all his misdeeds, he broke his hours-long silence.

“This movie is bullshit! Every fucking romcom in the fucking universe is bullshit! He betrayed her, he hurt her, she isn’t going to just forgive and forget. In real life, she’d yell at him, tell him he was garbage, and move on to someone else because he made a fucking mistake and no matter what he said, no matter what he did, he’ll never be forgiven for it because I hurt him and he fucking hates me!”

The sounds from the kitchen disappeared and Erica sat frozen beside him for a minute. Derek just kept scowling at the loving reunion on the screen until it went black, Erica having turned it off before shifting so she was facing Derek.

“You hurt who?” she asked quietly, as if worried speaking too loudly would have him clam up again.

And he wanted to. He wished he hadn’t fucking said anything, because he was hurting enough and pissed off, and everything was stupid, and he didn’t want this. He didn’t want his friends to know, because they would judge him, and he didn’t want to lose anyone else, he was tired of losing people, and he fucking hated this.

But if he didn’t talk about it, he felt like he might explode. He felt like he was losing his God damn mind, and he needed to tell someone. He needed to get it all out and figure out what to do to fix it, even though he knew he _couldn’t_.

“Spark,” he finally said.

“Who’s Spark?” Erica asked.

Derek let out an angry exhale, still scowling across the room with his arms crossed, but he clenched his jaw, and finally admitted it. “I wasn’t calling Magical Encounters to get off. I was calling it to get everyone off my back. I called in and started talking to Spark. I told him this wasn’t a sex thing, I just needed a half hour a week to make people think I was getting off so they’d leave me alone. He was fine with it, he liked having someone talk to him without wanting something from him. So we talked. We got to know each other.” He cut himself off before saying anything else, then grit his teeth and forced out, “I didn’t realize this at the time, but I started liking him. I got a crush on him. It was stupid, at first. A ridiculous little thing, about liking his laugh, and the sound of his voice, and the kind of person he was. And our relationship was good. It was comforting. Someone I could be myself with on the other end of the line, who didn’t know who I was, who just liked talking to me because we had a good thing going.”

“That sounds really nice,” Isaac said softly from the kitchen.

“It was,” he admitted, some of his anger coming back. “But I fucking ruined it, like I ruin everything.”

“Ruined it how?” Erica asked.

“I had a bad day. We fired Garrett. My day sucked. We got sued. Things sucked more. Every time I had a bad day, I needed him. I needed him so bad, but I didn’t want to call too often. I didn’t want him to think I was being creepy. He had a stalker, and I didn’t want to be like his stalker. But I _needed_ him. So I called him as someone else. I got a voice modulator, and I called him as a different person. And instead of talking, I—” He cut himself off again, but he knew the others could put it together. “After the first time, I promised I’d never do it again. But then I had another bad day, and I broke that promise. And then I started doing it _every day_. Because I haven’t ever felt that connected to someone before, and it just felt so good to have that voice in my ear, and I just _needed_  him. I needed him so bad.”

Derek leaned forward then, burying his face in his hands, feeling shame clawing at his stomach and chest again. His friends probably thought he was disgusting. This was so much worse than just calling a random person to get off. He’d actually formed a friendship with someone, and had broken that trust by impersonating someone else so he could jerk off to the sound of Stiles’ voice.

“And then one day, I found out who he was. It was by accident. I heard his voice, and I would recognize that voice _anywhere_. And I tried not to turn, I did. I tried not to look, but I couldn’t help it. I saw him. I saw who he was, and he was-he was _perfect_. He was bright, and happy, and _gorgeous_  and everything I could’ve ever wanted. And I _wanted_  him. So bad. I wanted to go to him, grab him, take him back to my place and just... I wanted him so badly. And I still do. And I know that’s fucked up, and wrong, and gross, and he doesn’t _belong_  to me. I forced myself to just forget I saw anything, I tried so hard to pretend I didn’t know, but I did. In my head, when I called to jerk off, I was picturing him. Every time he whispered things in my ear, I could imagine him lying next to me, breathing those things against my skin. And the more I imagined it, the guiltier I felt, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t _be_  like I was before. I would call him on Fridays, like I always did, but the guilt was eating away at me, and I couldn’t lie to him anymore. And he knew something was wrong, he knew I was upset, and he just—he asked me why. And I told him. I told him I’d betrayed someone I cared about. And he told me to be honest with them. He told me that I should be honest, that it was the right thing to do.”

Derek raked both hands through his hair, then rested his elbows on his thighs, still leaning forward, hands clasped together between his knees. He avoided looking at his friends, because he was disgusting, and he knew it, and didn’t need to see that reflected back at him.

“So the following Friday, last Friday, I admitted the truth to him. I told him what I’d done, and he was...” It hurt to remember the coldness of Stiles’ voice. “He was so mad. He didn’t understand, and I knew he wouldn’t, because I’d hurt him. I’d betrayed his trust, and no amount of explaining that was going to make it right. I wronged him, and he was rightfully angry. And then while I was trying to explain, while I was stupid enough to keep trying to fix it, I called him by his real name. It was an accident, I hadn’t meant to do it, I had _never_ meant for him to find out I knew who he was. He already had one stalker, and I wasn’t, _I wasn’t_! I just knew who he was by accident. But I knew he wouldn’t believe that. I knew if he found out I was aware of who he was that he would get scared. That I would _never_  fix this. But I said his name. I said his real name, and he froze, and I could hear how scared he was, I could tell I’d ruined _everything_  and then...”

He remembered the woman’s voice on the other end of the line. The woman telling him he was no longer welcome to call, that he would be reported if he tried again. The way she’d just hung up on him. The feeling of anger and hurt that had followed before he smashed his phone to nothing against the wall.

“And then?” Erica prompted quietly from beside him, one hand moving to his forearm, squeezing tightly.

“And then his boss took his line and told me never to call again,” he finished. “And then I realized I had ruined everything, just like I always do. Because I can’t do anything right. I can’t talk to my uncle, because our family died and I don’t know how to _be_  family with him. I can’t talk to my friends, because I worry they’ll leave me and it’s easier to just pretend they don’t matter. I can’t fix things with Spark, who is the only person I think I’ve ever truly cared this strongly about. The first person I’ve thought of in a romantic and sexual sense that was actually _meaningful_  and not just a quick lay. I can’t run my company efficiently anymore, I swear at people, I insist I’m going to fire people. I just... I’m not meant to be happy. I’m not meant to get what I want, so why should Spark be any different?”

“Derek,” Erica said, the slightest hint of reprimand in her voice. “Derek, we care about you. We have been here for you for years, and we are always going to be here for you. We know you’ve had a lot of challenges in life, and we’ve done our best to be patient with you, but if you’re keeping us at arm’s length because you’re scared we’re going to leave you, I think you need to reevaluate our friendship. You have fired me twice, and you are constantly rude to me, but I’m still sitting here insisting that you are my friend, and I love you. And you know I hate being sappy, so just take it while you can.”

“I have no problem being sappy,” Isaac insisted, falling beside Derek and hugging him tightly from the side. “I love you. You’re my brother, and my friend, and I’m sorry you’ve been carrying this around. I’m sorry we didn’t do more.”

He felt Boyd’s hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t say anything. Boyd rarely did, his support was always shown rather than spoken.

Erica’s head fell against his shoulder, her thumb rubbing lightly at his arm where she was still holding it.

“I’m sorry about Spark,” she said quietly. “Maybe you can explain things to him. Maybe you can let this sit for a little while and try again.”

“How do you fix something like this?” Derek whispered. “I should’ve told him what I wanted. I should’ve told him that first day that I needed to get off. I should’ve apologized, but asked him, and he probably would’ve said yes. He probably would’ve done it, if only I’d _asked_.”

“Give it time,” Erica insisted again. “He’s angry because it’s still raw. He’s scared because he doesn’t understand. Just wait. Give him time. Take time yourself to sort out how you really feel. He doesn’t know who you are, he doesn’t understand how much this cost you. Just let him calm down, and when you want to try again, we’ll be here.”

“Because you’re _not_  disgusting,” Isaac said, knowing where Derek’s mind was going. “We’re not going to say what you did was okay, because it wasn’t, but you cared about someone a lot, and you wanted to move forward with him, and you didn’t know how. Because you’re socially awkward and instead of asking for help you just went about it however you saw fit.”

Derek nudged at Isaac with his elbow, and his friend grinned into his neck.

Not that he was wrong. He wasn’t. Derek had never felt anything for people before. Since Kate Argent, all of his sexual encounters afterwards were just about getting off and leaving afterwards. He didn’t know how to _have_  a meaningful relationship with people, because he felt like they just _wanted_  something from him. His looks, his wealth, his name. He always felt like he wasn’t anyone people cared about as a person, so he’d never bothered to try and get to know anyone. He was happy being alone.

Or, he’d always thought he was happy being alone.

Until Stiles. Until he’d called him and started to get to know him. And suddenly he _had_  someone. And he wanted him, more than he’d ever wanted anyone before. And Isaac was right, Derek _hadn’t_  known how to move forward. He hadn’t known what to say or do to get them to a place where maybe he could meet him in real life without it being creepy.

But he’d fucked it up. Instead of being honest, of laying everything out, of _admitting_  how he felt about him, he’d fucked it all up and moved forward in the wrong way.

And he was never going to fix it.

Stiles was _never_  going to forgive him.

* * *

Slamming the Jeep door loudly, Stiles sighed and let his forehead fall against the steering wheel, feeling defeated and lost. This was the nineteenth interview in two weeks, and he _still_  didn’t have a job. Nowhere would hire him because of his hours.

At this point, he figured his best bet was to just wait for summer and get multiple jobs, save up as much money as he could so he wasn’t a burden to his dad for the school year. If he even bothered to finish school, at this point.

Things weren’t going well. He’d missed the deadline for one of his projects, his script had stalled and wasn’t moving forward, and he couldn’t figure out how to complete one of his assignments. At this rate, he was just going to fail and have to retake the year all over again.

He wished he had someone to talk to about all his problems, but he didn’t. Scott was in school to be a vet, and barely had any time to talk because he was so stressed out. Lydia was off being some trophy wife and didn’t really make time for him anymore unless she was in town and pretended like she hadn’t ignored him for years and years. Most of the friends he could think of were busy with their own problems, and he didn’t want to add to their stress.

Really, the only person he wanted to talk to was Derek. But that was never going to happen. Never again.

And fuck him for ruining what they had! Fuck him for ruining _everything_!

Stiles’ chest tightened at the reminder of what he’d had and lost. He remembered how angry he’d been. He’d been so fucking furious when he found out what Derek had done. Sure, he knew it was his job, but he just... Derek had been _different_! And to find out he was like everyone else, _especially_  after all the chats they’d been having, it fucking hurt. It hurt to know Stiles really meant nothing to him, at the end of the day.

And to hear his name.

Stiles had felt cold all over. He’d thought he was going to be sick. Because Derek knew who he was, and that wasn’t okay. And he’d ruined _everything_ and Stiles fucking _hated him_!

Was anything he even said real? Was he twenty-eight? Did he work a desk job in the early morning? Was he raped at sixteen? How could Stiles believe a single fucking thing out of his mouth? He was so fucking pissed at having lost the one person in town he felt like he could tell anything to. He couldn’t do that with anyone else, and now he never would again.

Derek was right, when he’d said other people killed off happy personalities. Stiles felt like he was never going to be the same ever again.

He jumped when there was a knock at his window and turned just in time to wish he’d locked his door, because it was promptly opened and a very uncomfortable grin was aimed his way. Thankfully, they were in the parking lot of an outlet, with countless people, in the middle of the day, so there were limited things that could transpire right now.

“Stiles. Having car trouble again?”

“No,” he said to Gerard, clenching his hands around his steering wheel. “I was just leaving.”

“That right?” Gerard leaned against the side of his door, still holding it wide open so that Stiles couldn’t fucking _leave_  since he had to back out of his spot. “Heard you quit your previous job. I was sorry to hear that.”

“It wasn’t for me,” Stiles forced out. Gerard was way too amused right now, considering he and Stiles had both openly spoken about the fact that he was the one calling asking to choke him while fucking him.

He supposed money did that to people. Security.

“Any luck finding a new one?”

“Yup.”

Gerard gave him an amused smile. “I have a job for you. If you need the money. You _do_  need the money, don’t you? Your father’s still paying off the mortgage, and school isn’t cheap.”

“We’re fine,” Stiles bit out. “Let go of my door.”

“That’s not very polite, Stiles.” He leaned further into the car and Stiles shifted away. “I’m trying to help you.”

“I don’t want your help.”

Gerard chuckled darkly, leaning closer. “You say that now, but I can’t wait for the day where you’re _begging_  me for it. And I’ll be only too happy to oblige, provided you do something for me, first.”

He started to reach out and Stiles shoved at him, hard, with both hands against his chest. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

Gerard’s face twisted, and he was about to say something probably terrible when Stiles jumped at the sound of his passenger door opening and turned to see a young Asian woman climb in holding a takeout bag from one of the fast food places nearby along with a drink-tray.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, lineup took _forever_.” She pulled one of the drinks out of the tray and started to hold it out towards Stiles, then paused. “Who’s that?”

 _Who’s that? Who are **you**?!_ Stiles wanted to ask, but he wasn’t going to look a gifthorse in the mouth. Whoever she was, she was pretending she knew Stiles and he was _more_ than okay with that.

“Nobody,” he blurted out, turning to Gerard. “He was just leaving.”

Gerard’s expression was cold while he looked at the Asian woman seated beside Stiles, but he just focussed back on him after a moment and rubbed one hand against his own mouth, as if in thought.

“Until next time, Stiles.”

“Drop dead,” he hissed, barely waiting for Gerard to clear the door before slamming it and locking it.

He watched him walk away, the older man seeming annoyed. When he disappeared into one of the stores, Stiles was finally able to relax, letting out a slow breath, before remembering someone was in his car and turning towards her.

She was scowling out after Gerard, but her expression softened when she found Stiles looking at her.

“Sorry about that,” she said with a small laugh, replacing the drink in her tray. “Looked like you needed some help. Not to say you can’t handle yourself, but Gerard Argent is powerful in this town, and I didn’t think you could afford a lawsuit.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said, a little surprised.

“My pleasure.” She smiled, then unlocked and pushed open the passenger door, waving once before slamming it. Stiles watched her walk away, keeping an eye on the store Gerard had entered, and noticed her getting into the passenger seat of a sleek black Mercedes.

It was a car he recognized, and when it pulled out of the lot, Peter Hale was behind the wheel, holding his hand out for the drink the woman had previously been pretending to give Stiles.

That was twice now that Peter had shown up to help him out of a bad situation with Gerard, and Stiles was starting to wonder if the man wasn’t _following_  Gerard. He knew he wasn’t following him, Stiles definitely would’ve noticed, but he found it interesting that Peter happened to be there two times Gerard had come at him.

Peter Hale definitely had beef with Gerard Argent. Stiles hoped he had enough fodder to get him arrested soon.

His hands were unsteady when he started the Jeep, backing out of his spot and heading to the station. His dad probably didn’t want him hanging around all day, but at least for a little while, he figured it would be better if he stuck close to people with guns.

* * *

Derek rubbed tiredly at his forehead while listening to the voice on the other end berate him. It was amazing how only a few days could change people’s opinion so quickly. He’d been yelling and swearing at this person the last time they’d spoken, and while he wasn’t proud of that, he was fully convinced that it meant they would never call him again, or at least be more polite the next time they _did_  call.

Apparently not, because they were the same as always, bitching and moaning about how people didn’t care about them, and how the advisors were more important than anyone else in the firm, and blah, blah, blah.

Derek needed a vacation. Now more than ever.

He was still pissed off and sad about what had happened with Stiles, and time away would probably be good for him. But if he tried to take a vacation, Peter would try and set him up with someone, insisting Derek needed to get laid. He didn’t know how much of what he’d admitted to Erica had been relayed to Peter, but enough that his uncle was being very annoying and coddling lately. He wanted to drive to and from work together every fucking day, and even hung out at Derek’s well into the evening so they could have dinner together.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like his uncle, exactly, he just—small doses. He and his uncle had a complicated relationship, but he knew the man was extremely protective of him. It made sense, given Derek was the only person he had left.

Derek had zoned out listening to the Branch Manager whine at him and quickly tuned back in, promising he’d have a chat with the appropriate people and then hanging up after an additional two minutes of angry ranting.

Sighing and rubbing at his face with both hands, he parted his fingers to peek out between them when someone knocked on his door. Erica was standing there, looking a little amused, but when she spoke, Derek’s blood ran cold.

“Hey, so the sheriff is on his way up for—”

“What?!” he demanded, slamming his hands on the desk, eyes wide and heart beginning to increase in speed. “The sheriff’s here?!”

Oh Jesus. Oh God. Oh fucking _Christ_!

Erica gave him a weird look at his reaction. “Yeah, he’s on his way up—”

“No!” Derek leapt to his feet. “Tell him I’m not here! Tell him I _died_!”

Erica rolled her eyes. “Well, he’s already on his way up. Like I said. Twice.”

Oh fucking _hell_ , he was going to get shot!

“Why?!” Derek demanded, feeling panic rising in his chest. There was no way he was here for anything good. He’d probably found out who was calling his son, and now he was coming to fucking arrest him or something! “Why would you just let him come up?!”

“What’s the big deal?” Erica moved further into the office, rolling her eyes again. “He probably just wants to talk to you about your break-in.”

“No!” Derek insisted. “No he doesn’t! My contact for the break-in is deputy Parrish! If the sheriff is here, it’s to shoot me!”

Erica squinted at him. “Why would he shoot you?”

“Because of Spark!” Derek insisted, hurrying to his office door and glancing out of it down the corridor where the elevator was. “You know, that guy? The one I ruined everything with? The one I called every day? Yeah. Guess who his dad is.” He turned to Erica. “I’ll give you a hint: _he’s in my fucking elevator_!”

Erica’s expression shifted and her face paled slightly. She opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again. “That, you know, that was information you probably should’ve shared with me.” She pointed one finger at him. “It’s something I probably should’ve known. So, that’s on you.”

Derek wondered if his desk was bulletproof.

“Make him leave,” he insisted, rushing back to his desk and falling into his chair, knocking at the wood and really wondering if it would save him from a bullet if he had to dive under it.

“I can’t make him _leave_. Derek, he’s not going to shoot you. I mean, hopefully.”

“Hopefully?!” Derek demanded, head popping back up. “Thanks, Erica! Feeling really optimistic!”

She glanced out the door and winced. “Uh, he’s on his way down the corridor.”

“You’re fucking _fired_ ,” he insisted, half under his desk, checking its sturdiness.

“I don’t report to you,” she reminded him, voice fading like she was walking away.

Derek was still knocking at the wood and trying to figure out if he could pretend he wasn’t actually there when there was a knock at his door and he jerked upright in his chair, narrowly missing banging his head on the underside of his desk.

Erica was standing there with a sour-looking sheriff at her elbow. He looked extremely threatening right then, and Derek had never been so scared of this man in his life.

“Mr. Hale, the sheriff is here to see you.”

Derek jerked to his feet immediately, straightening out his suit and hoping he wasn’t sweating as much as he felt like he was.

“Mr. Sheriff. Sir. Stilinski. Hello. Hi.”

It took a conscious effort not to wince at how fucking awkward and ridiculous he sounded. Erica gave him a look behind the sheriff’s back, then mimed blowing her brains out. Derek was _so_  going to fire her if he survived this conversation.

“Please, come in.” He motioned a seat in front of himself. “Sit. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Whiskey? Scotch?” Derek motioned for Erica not to leave so she could grab whatever the sheriff wanted, but he declined a drink.

“I won’t be staying long, thank you.”

Derek nodded, and shot a threatening look at Erica, silently telling her not to _dare_  shut his office door, since it looked like she was about to out of habit.

The decision was made for her.

“Shut the door, please,” the sheriff said.

Erica glanced at the back of the man’s head, then Derek. He tried to give her a desperate look, begging her to go and get Peter or something so he didn’t just straight up get shot. She shrugged helplessly at him, then shut the door, leaving him trapped in a room with Stiles’ father.

“Sit down, Derek.”

Oh, this was going to go terribly, and he was going to get fucking _murdered_. He almost reminded the sheriff that if he was arrested his son would be left alone, but didn’t think bringing up his son right now was a good idea.

So he just obediently moved behind his desk and took a seat, trying not to look as nervous as he very obviously felt.

“What can I do for you, sheriff?” he asked, attempting normalcy even though he knew the man wasn’t buying it.

“I’m not here to accuse you of anything. And I’m not here to cause problems. I am just going to ask you questions, and you are going to answer them, and then we will never speak of this again.”

Derek swallowed hard but nodded his agreement. The sheriff leaned forward, placing his clasped hands on Derek’s desk, and stared at him intently.

“Are you stalking my son?”

“No,” Derek blurted out immediately. “No, I’m not. I promise you, sir. I’m not.”

“You are by far the most frequent caller, especially the past few weeks. I’m gonna need you to be honest with me, son.”

“I’m not,” Derek said again. “I’m not stalking him, I would _never_. I couldn’t ever do something like that, especially not since—” He cut himself off, but he knew the sheriff understood, because his hard expression softened about one percent. “It’s a misunderstanding, sir. I did-I did something terrible. I became his friend, and then I betrayed that trust, and I am so, _so_  sorry. I regret it deeply, and if I could take it back, I would.”

“You knew who he was.”

Derek sighed, rubbing one hand over his mouth in agitation. “When I was robbed. When that person broke into my house and stole my things, I went down to the station. You recall?”

“I do.”

Derek nodded once and continued. “While I was walking to deputy Parrish’s desk to give him more details, your son came in. And when he spoke, I recognized his voice immediately. It was a voice I had grown very used to hearing, so I knew the moment he said his first word that he was the person on the other end of the line. He went to your office, and called you his father. It wasn’t difficult to put the pieces together.”

“So you’ve known who he was all that time.” The sheriff raised his shoulders. “Why didn’t you say anything to him?”

“Because I didn’t want him to worry,” Derek insisted. “I didn’t want to scare him. I knew he already had a stalker, I didn’t want him to think...” he trailed off, sighing in defeat. “I didn’t want him to think I was stalking him, too. I wasn’t. It was just an accident.”

“But you kept calling.”

Derek felt ashamed at the look he was getting. “I did, yes.”

“Even though you knew who he was.”

“Yes.”

The sheriff watched him for a long moment. “Are you planning on hurting my son?”

“No,” Derek said quickly. “No, sir. I’m not—I already hurt him enough, I’m not... I want to fix this with him, but I don’t know how. I don’t know if it’s possible.” He realized he probably shouldn’t be talking about fixing things with his angry father across from him. “I’m very sorry for the trouble I caused.”

The sheriff let out a sigh, but he still looked pissed as all hell. “I believe you. Only because you haven’t attempted to call back. I believe you’re not looking to hurt him. That being said,” he pointed his finger at Derek, face darkening threateningly and voice hard, “stay away from my son. I don’t care who you are or how much money you have. You stay _away_  from my son. Understand?”

Derek felt his chest ache and his throat close up, realizing he was never going to be given the opportunity to fix this with Stiles. He just nodded in agreement, and the sheriff nodded back.

“Thank you for your candour.” He stood then, moving towards the door, but when he went to open it, Derek stopped him.

“His stalker. The real one.” The sheriff turned to him, eyebrow raised in inquiry. “You found me, so you obviously have the means right now. Have you figured out who the other one is?”

“My son has told me who it is.”

“Can you prove it?” Derek asked, needing to know that Stiles was going to be okay. That he was going to be safe.

The sheriff’s expression answered his question before his mouth did. “No.”

“If it’s an Argent,” Derek said quietly, “please know that I want to help. Not because of my relationship with Stiles. Not because of any ulterior motive to get you on my side. I want to help because I’ve been hurt by that family, and I don’t ever want that to happen to anyone else.”

“Thank you for the offer, but I think I can deal with this on my own,” the sheriff said coldly. “I am an officer of the law, I don’t need help from outside sources to protect my son.”

Derek wished he knew what to say to change his mind, but the sheriff pulled open his door and exited the office, Erica hovering nervously by her desk. When she saw Derek alive and well, she let out a slow breath, shaking her head, and turned to hurry after the sheriff to escort him to the elevator.

This was wrong. Derek understood that the sheriff hated him, now. He understood he would never trust him. But Derek wanted to help protect Stiles from a family who had already hurt him. He didn’t want the same thing that happened to him to happen to Stiles. He already knew he’d probably killed a piece of Stiles’ happiness and faith in humanity, but if someone in that family went after him...

Derek had to do something. He didn’t know what yet, but he had to do something.

He could _not_  let an Argent touch Stiles.

Over his dead fucking body.

* * *

Stiles glanced up when his father walked into his office, starting almost violently at the sight of him, one hand going to his gun. Thankfully he didn’t actually pull it out, he just rested his hand on it, shaking his head and sighing, heading for his desk.

“What are you doing here, Stiles?”

“Surrounding myself with armed men. Can I have a gun?”

“No. Why?” The sheriff groaned as he fell into his chair, leaning back and rubbing his face with both hands.

“Gerard Argent cornered me in a parking lot today.”

His father was instantly alert, sitting up straight and asking him questions. Stiles had already gone through it all with Parrish, and when the man had called to get a copy of the tape from the security cameras in the area, they’d magically encountered a system glitch and the last twenty-four hours of tape was lost.

Gerard had likely paid someone to erase all evidence, or even to turn the cameras off entirely for a period of time. His only witnesses so far to anything amiss with Gerard Argent were Peter Hale—who had known beef and was thus likely not a good witness—and that woman who’d been with him. She was probably an employee, so also not a reliable witness. Unless they got something on tape, Stiles didn’t think this was going to go away.

“Where were you?” he asked when his father was done interrogating him, looking more annoyed than ever.

“Out.”

“Clearly. Where?”

“A call.”

“Val said it wasn’t a call.”

“Stiles,” he said, exasperated. “I was out. Leave it alone.”

Stiles stared at his father, noting how tense he looked, how unhappy he was. It wasn’t just about Gerard, either, which meant he’d found something out.

“You found Derek, didn’t you?” he asked quietly.

His father looked up at him then, expression closed off.

Stiles shrugged. “Doesn’t take a genius. So?”

“So what?” his dad grumbled, pulling papers closer to himself and straightening them, even though they were already straight.

“So who was it?”

“What’s important is he isn’t coming after you. I did some digging, found he hasn’t called Magical Encounters back, hasn’t come anywhere near you since your last call. He said he wasn’t trying to hurt you, and I believe him, even if I don’t trust him. He’ll stay away from you, that’s what’s important.”

“But who _is_  it?” Stiles demanded. “Dad, I should know. If I need to call the cops, or if he comes at me, I need—”

“Stiles,” his dad said, tone final, “he won’t come near you.”

“He knows my name!”

“He overheard you speaking once,” the sheriff said, Stiles frowning. “He was around when you were with me one time. He realized who you were, because you called me ‘dad,’ so he knew immediately you were my son. He found out by accident.”

“And you believe him? He could be lying!”

“I believe him. I remember him being there the day he referenced.”

Stiles was frustrated. Why wouldn’t his dad just _tell_  him?! It couldn’t possibly be any worse than it being one of the Argents. Unless it was the _other_  Argent. God, if it was Chris, Stiles was fucking moving. He didn’t know how he’d get out of there, but he’d just fucking hitchhike across the country, didn’t matter. Anywhere had to be better than here.

“Dad,” Stiles insisted. “Just _tell_  me. It can’t be any worse than Argent.”

“If I tell you, you’re never going to leave the house again,” his father insisted. “If I tell you who it was, you’re going to wonder every time anything happens what it means, why it’s happening, if someone got bribed into it. You already spend more time here with me than you do on your own. I don’t want you to change.”

“I _won’t_ ,” Stiles insisted. “Dad, just tell me! I need to know. I have to—please. I can’t do this anymore. I need to know how scared I should be.”

His father stared at him for a long while, and he could tell he didn’t want to admit who it was. He didn’t want Stiles to know, because in some way, he thought he was protecting him. But Stiles could take care of himself, and he could only do that if he knew who to be scared of. Who to avoid and back away from when they came too close. Even if whoever this was insisted they wouldn’t hurt him, of course they’d say that to his dad.

Who wouldn’t?

Letting out a sigh, his father rubbed at his mouth before getting to his feet, starting around his desk before stopping, shifting awkwardly.

“This is theoretically still an open case. I’m still investigating, trying to figure some things out, get your stalker caught. I can’t share any details with you.” He looked at Stiles, then glanced at the papers on his desk. “I’m going to get a coffee.”

His dad was the best, really. The things he did for Stiles.

Stiles hated putting him in that position, where he had to choose between being a cop and being a dad, but he _had_  to know. He needed to know who it was, it would drive him crazy and he’d be scared of _everyone_.

He watched his dad leave the office, and once the door was shut firmly behind him, Stiles stood and rushed around the desk, pulling the stack of papers closer and beginning to sift through them. It looked like it was every call he’d ever taken while working for Magical Encounters, but only the ones that had people attached to them. The stack was fairly big, but not nearly big enough, which meant a lot of numbers were hard for his dad to get names to without a warrant. He winced at all the names he _did_  see, horrified at some of the ones he found.

Parrish was on the third page. Parrish was actually on the damn list, but that one was from back when Stiles had first started based on the date, and his name didn’t come up again, as far as he could tell while flipping through the pages. Stiles wondered if Parrish had recognized his voice and immediately been like “Nope!” and hung up. He didn’t remember much about his first year working there, but the fact that Parrish’s name only appeared once at the beginning was comforting.

They could probably laugh about it, now. Parrish was a good guy, and clearly confused in his sexuality, given he was still single and didn’t seem interested in anyone. He kind of wanted to talk to him about this, but he couldn’t otherwise Parrish would know his dad had shown him this.

And if Parrish hadn’t been punched or fired, he and his dad had already hashed things out so he wasn’t going to revisit it. Hell, maybe Parrish had come clean the second this had all started. It was safer to admit it from the start than to wait for the sheriff to corner him.

He glazed over a few names, not liking some of the ones he saw, and struggled to just focus on the task at hand. The last call he’d ever taken was from Derek, so Stiles flipped to the last page of the massive report, slid his finger down the list to the bottom, then followed the number over to the name it was attached to.

_Derek Hale._

Stiles’ brain shut down.

He just stared at the name, convinced he was wrong, because that was fucking insane. That couldn’t be _possible_! That was–that was... what?!

He ran his finger up the list, hoping Wolf’s call was recorded as being identified. He found the call, remembering the time, and slid his finger along the row to the name at the end.

_Hale & Hale Financial Group - Derek Hale. _

“Holy shit,” he breathed, brain numb. “Holy fucking shit.”

So Gerard Argent was stalking him, and Derek Hale was... well, he was whatever!

He suddenly remembered Peter Hale’s comment that first time he’d ever met him, about how Gerard’s daughter had raped his nephew. The next time he’d spoken to Derek, he’d admitted to being raped when he was sixteen.

Holy fucking shit, Stiles had been speaking to Derek Hale this entire time, and he’d had no fucking idea.

Convinced this was insane, he pulled his phone out and went to YouTube, searching for anything where Derek Hale was giving an interview or speaking to the press or basically _speaking_  in general. When he found a video, he started it and then raised the volume on his phone.

The second Derek spoke, he felt his stomach clench.

It was the same voice. It was _him_. It was actually Derek Hale. He was the person on the other end of the call.

He was... Jesus Christ, he was the one who’d been jerking off listening to Stiles’ voice! That was so fucking crazy!

Not any less terrifying though, because now he had _two_  rich and powerful men all up in his fucking business, and what the hell? Did money make people entitled dickwads? Probably.

It was actually quite depressing to realize Derek Hale was a piece of shit. His uncle seemed like a pretty nice guy, and he’d protected him from Gerard twice so far.

Kind of a letdown to realize his nephew wasn’t the same way.

Stiles put his phone away and went to sit on the couch before his dad got back. He wasn’t sure what to do with this information. A part of him felt relieved, because at least Derek hadn’t lied about anything, not even his _name_ —which, really, stupid. Derek was stupid.

But how was he supposed to feel knowing that he hadn’t lied about those things, and then had gone behind his back and jerked off to Stiles telling him... well, telling him things he didn’t want to think about. And the worst part was, he wasn’t as scared of Derek as he was of Gerard, and now he was worried he was going to give him a piece of his mind if he ever saw him at the supermarket.

Maybe his dad was right and he didn’t want to know. Two rich men were after him, and not in a fun way, and this was gross and so wrong and he regretted taking that job. He hadn’t been expecting this level of shit when he’d made that deal with Tara.

The door opened and Stiles turned to his father, who closed the door behind himself and moved to his desk with his coffee. He gave Stiles an annoyed look at the pages out of place, but just straightened them once more and moved them aside, taking a seat behind the desk.

“You talk to Parrish?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Don’t fire him for this, it was years ago.”

“He’s still here, isn’t he?”

Stiles turned to lift one of the slats in the blinds, looking through the gap towards Parrish’s desk. He was sitting there, working as normal, without a care in the world. Whenever this conversation had happened, it had been a while ago. And maybe he was right. Maybe Parrish had come clean, admitting it all to his dad _before_  he found his name on the list.

If he’d recognized Stiles’ voice, his dad had probably been pissed Parrish hadn’t told him where his son really worked.

“Did he say whether or not I was any good?”

He heard a small thump behind him, like his dad had slammed one hand on the table. “Stiles,” he said in warning.

“What?” Stiles turned to him, dropping the blind. “I was new back then, just wondering if I was even any good. Did he never call back because I sucked, or because he recognized my voice?”

His dad gave him a look. “If you stay, you shut up. If you’re not going to shut up, get out of my office.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and settled more comfortably on the couch, bending down to pull his laptop out of his bag so he could try and get some homework done.

He wasn’t optimistic about it, but if he could get even one page out, that was better than nothing.

Stiles spent the rest of the evening thinking about Derek Hale.

* * *

Derek let out an explosive sigh when he looked up to find Peter at his door, grinning like a fucking maniac, and ready to leave.

It had been almost a month since Peter had started insisting on driving home with him. Just over a month since he’d last spoken to Stiles. Two or so weeks since his father had cornered him in his office.

Time felt like it was moving both way too quickly and slow as molasses at the same time.

“I know how to get home on my own.”

“You wound me, nephew.”

“Fatally, I hope,” Derek muttered under his breath, reviewing what he was working on.

It wasn’t that he hated his uncle, it was more that he wasn’t interested in this bonding thing he had going on. Derek wanted to forget everything that had happened the past few months, and Peter being a constant reminder of the conversation he’d had with Erica, Boyd and Isaac wasn’t helping in the ‘forgetting everything that had happened the past few months’ front.

Peter moved forward into his office, falling into one of the seats across from him and getting comfortable. Derek ignored he was there, even as his uncle stared at him intently enough to burn holes into his skin.

“I saw Gerard Argent recently.”

Derek paused in what he was doing.

“He’d cornered the sheriff’s son again.”

Derek’s head snapped up. “Is he okay? What happened? When was this?”

“Oh, a few weeks back,” Peter said offhandedly, waving one hand.

“How could you not tell me?!” Derek demanded angrily, getting to his feet. “Is he okay? What happened? Was it recorded?”

Peter gave him a look. “Come now, Derek. You think Gerard would be that foolish? No, nothing was captured. I tried, but my contact informed me that someone else had already been paid to wipe the tapes by the time I called. There was nothing to be found. Besides, nothing incriminating happened. Kira was with me at the time, she just climbed into the sheriff son’s car as if they were friends. He was forced to walk away.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Derek demanded.

“I didn’t know he was so important to you back then.”

Derek stared at him for a long while, then realized he hadn’t spoken to Peter about Stiles yet. Or ever. Everything Peter knew, he’d heard secondhand from someone else. Erica had probably kept his mystery man a secret up until now, which was likely why Peter was telling him this.

Because he knew, now, how important it was for Gerard to stay away from Stiles. Not only because he was an Argent, but because it was _Stiles_.

“Erica told you.”

“I’d prefer if you were honest with me sometimes, but I understand our complicated relationship.” Peter pulled out his phone, looking through it and frowning, likely at an email. “I thought Gerard might’ve been finished with him, but it would appear he is not. The sheriff can only do so much.”

“I offered to help,” Derek said softly. “He refused.”

“Because he likely thinks you have an ulterior motive.” Peter put his phone away, steepling his fingers. “I, on the other hand, do not. All I want is for an Argent to get what they deserve for the actions they take. They are a family of horrible people, and while I’m no saint, at least I don’t go around trying to rape people.” He made a face even as he said it, as if the very thought disgusted him. Which it likely did. Derek had been fucked up for weeks after what had happened with Kate, which had turned into a bigger problem when his family died soon afterwards, and now he was here. Like this.

Except worse, because he’d lost Stiles.

“I don’t want what happened to me to happen to Stiles,” Derek said quietly. “We have to stop them. We have the means this time.”

“I’m working on it,” Peter informed him. “What are you going to do about your other problem?”

Derek frowned. “What other problem.”

Peter gave him a look and Derek’s frown turned into a scowl. There was nothing he could do about that, he didn’t see why Peter was bothering to bring it up.

“His father told me to stay away from him.”

“And you’re an idiot for listening.”

“I’m not going to start a fight with the sheriff,” Derek snapped. “I respect him too much for that. He’s done a lot for us. And I care about his son, I won’t do that to him.”

“I’m not saying disobey him,” Peter insisted, rolling his eyes, as if he thought Derek were thick. “I’m saying work on one to get to the other.”

Derek frowned. “What?”

Peter leaned forward in his seat, smiling a little predatorily at him. “Let me teach you something, nephew. Do you know that a majority of the advisors in the country don’t want to move their books? Changing firms is a huge hassle. You have to convince your clients to come with you, leave behind a comfortable space for a new and unknown one, find new contacts, move all the accounts over, hope you don’t lose any clients in the process. An advisor is only as good as his book, and if you move and lose half of your book, well, that’s half your income. No advisors want to move their books.”

“Is there a point?” Derek asked with a sigh.

“Getting there, patience, Derek. Advisors don’t want to move their books, so you have to show them why it’s _better_ for them to be with _your_  firm than to stay where they are. You have to convince them that you’re the better option. And you do that by showing them what you have to offer.”

“Meaning?” Derek asked uncertainly.

“You need to show the sheriff what you’re worth. You need to convince him that you’re a good person, with questionable ethics at times, and that you only want what’s best for his son. We’re very wealthy, after all, and I’m sure the sheriff would be happy to know his son will be cared for in the future. Provided this works out, of course.” Peter frowned. “You’re both very young, there’s a lot of time for things to go south, but for the moment, you just need to sell yourself.”

“That still feels like a bribe.”

“How is selling yourself a bribe?” Peter shrugged. “You’re just showing him you’re the most coveted stock on the market, so to speak. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Derek didn’t like it. It didn’t sit well with him. It still felt too much like he was bribing the sheriff, and he didn’t want to do that. The man had told him to stay away, and he had, because he respected him.

Peter rolled his eyes. “What else have you got up your sleeve? Are you going to write him a letter?” His uncle scoffed.

Derek stared at him for a few seconds, his last comment striking something in him, and he knew Peter was aware of that because his face fell.

“Derek please tell me you’re not going to write him a letter.”

“Get out of my office.”

“I am often extremely sad with the knowledge that we are related,” Peter informed him with a sigh, but he obediently stood and exited the office. Derek watched him leave, and he wasn’t positive, but he thought he might have seen the ghost of a smile on his face when he shut the door.

He ignored that and instead opened a word document on his computer. The blank screen appeared, and he stared at it for a long while, trying to figure out what to say. He restarted it four times, because he needed the beginning to catch his attention. He needed to make sure that everything that came after was just as good as the first line.

It took him over an hour, and more than thirty drafts, before he was satisfied with what he had on his screen. It was nearing nine at night by then, and he printed the letter out on their official letterhead, slipped it into an envelope, and sealed it. He printed the sheriff’s name on the front, and as he was about to put in the station’s address, he decided to just drop it off in person. It seemed more sincere that way.

Finishing up what he’d been working on, Derek gathered his things and left his office, locking it behind himself and moving to the elevators. He descended to the garage, climbed into the Camaro, and drove to the sheriff’s department.

He sat in the Camaro outside for almost ten minutes, wondering if he could actually walk in and do this. His original intention had been to walk in, drop it off at the front, and leave, but as he thought about it, he realized how that would look.

Like a bribe.

He didn’t want that. He didn’t want the sheriff to see who it was from and toss it in the trash. He wanted to make sure he at least _read_  it. To do that, he’d have to _speak_  to him. Which was terrifying, because that man was extremely scary when it came to his son.

After an additional two minutes, he finally pushed open the door and climbed out of the car. Various officers were entering and exiting the precinct when he started up the stairs. A few of them glanced at him, but no one stopped or asked if he needed help. He walked right through the front doors, a tired-looking woman seated at the front desk. She perked up slightly at the sight of him, and he tried for his most winning smile.

“Hello. I’m Derek Hale.”

“I know,” she said with a small, awkward laugh. She cleared her throat, attempting to get herself back under control. “Can I help you?”

“I’m actually here to see the sheriff, if he’s available.”

“Oh, of course. Yes, he’s free, let me—”

“Mr. Hale.” Derek looked past the woman at the reception and saw deputy Parrish behind her, frowning at him. The look he was getting suggested deputy Parrish knew everything about who Derek was to Stiles, and that the sheriff didn’t like him.

“Deputy Parrish,” he said in greeting.

“What are you doing here?” He moved up beside the woman at the front, who seemed confused by the sudden hostility, but said nothing.

“I’m here to see the sheriff.”

“I’ll see if he’s available,” the deputy said, even though the woman had said he was free.

Deputy Parrish turned and walked towards the sheriff’s office. He knocked on the door, glancing over at Derek, and when he was called to enter, he did so quickly and shut the door behind himself. A minute or so passed, and then the door opened again, the deputy walking out with the sheriff on his heels.

The older man shut his office door firmly before heading for the front.

Derek found that to be extremely weird. They were in a police station, was he worried someone was going to steal his midnight snack?

“Mr. Hale,” the sheriff said, moving up around the desk, crossing his muscled arms and bearing down on him. They were almost the same height, but Derek felt two inches tall in front of this man’s formidable presence.

“Sheriff. Sorry for dropping by unannounced. I was hoping we could have a word.”

The sheriff stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “What’s on your mind?”

Derek’s eyes shifted to the woman at the desk and deputy Parrish, who were both _right there_ and clearly listening in.

“Somewhere private?”

The sheriff glanced towards his office, then back at Derek and nodded his head in another direction.

“This way.”

Derek frowned, wondering what the deal was with his office, but he followed him along anyway. As he passed through the bullpen and towards another corridor, he turned to glance at the sheriff’s office and saw one of the slats in the blinds move, like someone had just been peeking through them.

His heart did something weird in his chest, like he’d been punched in the ribcage and someone was squeezing it.

Stiles.

Stiles was in the sheriff’s office.

This was the closest he had been to him since the last time he’d encountered him in this same place. It took everything he had not to turn around and make a break for it, but Parrish was following behind them, so that would probably be a bad idea.

Also, Derek wasn’t a savage, he could control himself.

The sheriff opened a door for an interrogation room and motioned him in. Derek preceded him into the room, and the man followed, shutting the door.

Derek had never been in a room like this before and he walked towards the table, wondering how stressful it must be to be locked in a room with a criminal. He was sure there were precautions in place to avoid injury, but it still wasn’t something he was keen to discover for himself on _either_  side of the table.

His discussions with the sheriff back when everything had happened with Kate hadn’t been in a room like this. It had been in the man’s office, with his mother and another deputy. It was probably because of his age, a room like this would’ve been intimidating and the sheriff was a good man. He likely wanted Derek to feel comfortable, and safe. Especially considering the nature of their discussion.

“What would you like?” the sheriff asked, Derek turning back to him. He was standing by the door with his arms crossed, clearly wanting to get this over and done with.

Letting out a slow breath, Derek reached into his suit pocket and pulled out the envelope, holding it out to the sheriff. The man’s eyes lowered to look at it, then returned to Derek’s face, making no move to reach out and grab it.

“What’s this?”

“It’s for you.”

“I don’t take bribes,” the sheriff said coldly.

“It’s not a bribe,” Derek informed him. “I respect you too much to think you’d ever stoop that low.” Derek kept the letter held out, waiting for him to take it. “I know it was a long time ago, and I know you probably don’t remember what you did for me, but I remember you very well, sheriff. I remember being confused and scared and feeling alone while Peter was trying to get our affairs in order after the fire. I remember a kind man sitting with me, telling me everything was going to be all right, that I was strong, that I would bounce back from this. I remember being in awe of a man who himself had lost so much, who saw so many horrible things, but still had such a positive outlook on life. When Peter and I created our firm, when we started making money, we donated to the station every year, and we have and always will vote for you every year that you run for sheriff. Not because we feel we have to, or because we want you to feel like you owe us anything, but because you’re a good person. You are a good _man_ , sheriff Stilinski.”

Derek didn’t let his hand drop, but the sheriff still hadn’t moved to take the letter.

“I know what I did was wrong. I know that, to you, if I had just been calling your son’s work and doing what I called for and hung up, you would’ve seen how often I called and then just figured I was a sad, pathetic, horny young man. But the reason you reacted badly, the reason you don’t want me near your son is because I hurt him. And I can’t take that back, no matter how much I wish I could. I will never be able to take that back. But sir,” Derek’s hand tightened around the letter, “your son is so important to me. Not because of the conversations I had during the week, but because of the half hour we shared on Fridays. After everything-everything that happened to me, I never...” He’d specifically written all this shit _down_ because he couldn’t _say_ it! “Sir, please. _Please_  just...” He gave the letter a small shake. “Please give me a chance. Please just—read this. I just want you to understand what he means to me. How important he is. I’m not trying to force your hand, and I won’t ever disrespect your decision. Even if you decide not to read it, even if you tell me to leave, and to stay away from your son, I will respect that choice, because you are his father, and you care about him. And because you are a _good man_ , and I respect you and everything you stand for. And even if you say no, I will still always vote for you. I will still always donate to this precinct. Nothing will change, because I know you care about your son, and I know you view me as someone who isn’t good enough for him.”

He held the letter out more insistently, and silently willed the man to just fucking _take it_ so he could _leave_  because he felt raw and exposed and vulnerable and this was _not_  what he’d intended when he walked into this place. He just wanted him to understand that Stiles was literally the best thing in his life, and to have lost him was like losing a fucking arm. Every day was a fucking struggle, because he didn’t have Fridays to look forward to anymore. He couldn’t call Stiles, listen to him talk about his screenplay, discuss stupid shit like the special effects in the last Marvel movie. He felt like he had nothing, now.

Just when he was about to give up, let his hand fall and leave the room, the sheriff slowly unfolded his arms and took the letter, Derek letting out a sigh of relief, releasing it and allowing him to fold it a few times and tuck it away in his pocket.

“Don’t think a letter is going to fix things,” the sheriff informed him. “Even if, by some miracle, I find myself understanding, and I don’t slap a restraining order on you, it’s not me you’ve hurt, it’s him.”

“I know,” Derek said softly. “And if given the chance, I will do everything I can to make it up to him.”

“Good luck,” the sheriff said. “He’s pretty stubborn.”

It wasn’t approval, so Derek tried really hard not to take it as such, but it still made his heart do something funny in his chest. Like maybe his vulnerability had made the sheriff realize he was really honestly just desperate for five minutes with Stiles to _fix_  things. He hoped so. He didn’t want to try and fix anything with Stiles without his father’s permission, so he could only hope the man would be more forgiving and let Stiles make his own decisions.

Never an easy thing for a parent to do when it comes to their child, but he would just cross all his fingers and pray to every deity in existence.

The sheriff opened the door and motioned him out. Derek nodded a thanks to him, then exited the room, but the sheriff didn’t follow. Deputy Parrish was at his elbow, escorting him towards the exit. Derek’s eyes unconsciously went to the sheriff’s office, where one of the slats was raised. It didn’t lower this time, but it was hard to see anything from that distance. He knew it was Stiles, though. Watching him be led out.

Derek just looked for a few seconds, then turned away, because he wasn’t a creeper. He wasn’t trying to be a fucking stalker, or a weirdo, or anything like that. Yes, he’d jerked off to Stiles’ voice, but he’d already _known_  him by then. He’d gotten to know Stiles and had fallen for _Stiles_  long before he’d gotten addicted to his voice in his ear, whispering dirty things.

He thanked deputy Parrish on his way out, despite the man having done nothing for him, but it was the polite thing to do. Exiting the precinct, he made it to his car and behind the wheel before exhaling a slow breath and letting his head fall back against the headrest.

Derek wasn’t stupid. He knew the chances of things working out in his favour were slim, but he just wanted a chance to _talk_  to Stiles again. Even if he couldn’t fully fix this, he was someone he wanted in his life, in whatever way he could have him. If he had to write letters back and forth, he would do that. He hoped not, but it was better than nothing.

Starting the car and hoping for the best, he backed out of the spot and headed home.

* * *

Stiles didn’t like how the plot was going. It was slow. The characters were all over the place. The two nimrods weren’t getting together like he’d planned. He was positive it was boring but he didn’t know how to fix it.

He glanced up when someone knocked at his dad’s door, a grunt confirming they could enter. Parrish opened the door and slid into the room quickly, shutting it behind himself. He glanced at Stiles, who cocked an eyebrow, then moved to the sheriff’s desk and lowered his voice.

“Derek Hale is here to see you.”

The sheriff’s eyes shot to Stiles, who instantly turned to peek through the blinds.

Sure enough, Derek Hale was standing at the front with Jessica, who looked like she was trying to make her boobs bigger by thrusting her chest out.

Oh, if only she knew.

“Stiles,” the sheriff said, making him turn back to him. “Wait here.”

“Sure.”

He wasn’t afraid of Derek Hale. Not really. He wasn’t exactly interested in getting in front of him either, though, so he just watched through the blinds as his father and Parrish left the room. There was a short discussion at the front, then Derek was led off towards the interrogation rooms. When he glanced at the sheriff’s office, Stiles quickly dropped the slat he was holding for the blinds and cursed. Fuck, he was so fucking obvious. Derek totally knew he was in the office now.

But what did that matter? Wasn’t like he was going to do anything.

And Derek Hale was extremely attractive, which was annoying, because Stiles wanted to hate him for being a colossal dick. When he’d looked him up the past few times to reassure himself it really _was_  him he’d spoken to all those times, he’d insisted he was just that attractive because the camera made him look good.

But even now, walking into the precinct after a long day at work, he still looked fucking perfect. And Stiles hated that.

“Serial killers are attractive, too,” he muttered to himself, forcing his attention back to the computer. “Many serial killers are good looking and charming. Doesn’t mean anything.”

He managed to get one sentence out, then was looking through the blinds again. It took almost five minutes before Derek returned with Parrish. The man looked over at him, but he wasn’t looking right in Stiles’ eyes, which meant he probably couldn’t see him as well as Stiles could see Derek. When he turned away and left the building, Stiles dropped the slat and tossed his computer onto the neighbouring cushion, getting to his feet and opening the office door. He frowned, looking around, then walked out to where Parrish was moving to meet him halfway.

“Where’s my dad?”

“Stayed behind in the room. Not sure why.”

“Huh.” Stiles looked down the corridor towards where his dad had disappeared, then shrugged and slapped Parrish in the arm before heading back to the office.

He was kind of a permanent fixture in the place. It was making things difficult for his dad, and he knew it, because he kept having to move meetings and discussions to another room, but he appreciated that nobody had kicked him out yet.

Since his last run-in with Gerard, he still wasn’t very comfortable being home alone all the time, particularly at night, but he knew he would have to go back there eventually. He was a big boy, and he didn’t want to be a burden on his dad.

He figured maybe starting Monday. That was in four days. He’d do this until Sunday evening, and on Monday he’d stick around at home like a normal twenty-five year old. He had neighbours, wasn’t like Gerard could just break in and do whatever.

Stiles jumped when his dad re-entered the room, shutting the door behind himself with a piece of paper clenched in one hand. He cocked an eyebrow when his dad turned to him and the man sighed, dragging his free hand down his face.

“Everything okay, pops?”

The sheriff moved towards the couch instead of his desk, sitting down beside Stiles.

“I don’t know.”

“What happened?” It wasn’t like his dad to be this unsure.

“I remember the first time I met Derek Hale. He was open, honest, cheerful. He was a good kid. Bit of a troublemaker, not unlike you, but a good kid. He was going places in life, even then, I could see it.” He sighed, leaning back on the couch, turning to look at Stiles. “The fire changed him, Stiles. He’d started closing off when the rape happened, but he really shut down after the fire. When he’d lost everything. I remember that day so well. I remember sitting beside him, trying to help him any way I could. He was a good kid, and he’d just lost everything. I wanted to help him.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “The man I saw in that room reminded me so much of the boy from back then. Someone who’d lost everything and was just trying to come to terms with how to deal with it.”

He sighed again, and brought the piece of paper forward, using both hands to flatten it out on his knee.

“What’s that?”

“A letter,” he said. “Something he wrote to me, because he couldn’t say it aloud.” He hesitated, then held it out to Stiles.

Frowning, he took it, but didn’t read it yet, watching his father.

“I just want what’s best for you, Stiles. I can’t fight Argent, and I know Hale hurt you, so I went after him instead because he was someone I _could_  fight. I told him to stay away from you, because I know that’s what you want, but I also know you can fight your own battles. I know that you know what you need, what’s best for you, and I just want you to be safe. Happy and safe. I don’t want him near you, but that’s because I saw how scared you were, how hurt you felt. I don’t want him to do that to you again. But he explained how he knew who you were, and he understands how much he hurt you. And I don’t want to make that decision for you.”

“I don’t like Derek Hale,” Stiles informed him. And it was the truth, too. At that moment, he did _not_  like Derek Hale.

“I know you don’t,” the sheriff said. “But he likes you. A lot.”

Stiles frowned. “He likes getting off listening to me talk, there’s a difference.”

“No, Stiles.” The sheriff pointed at the letter. “He _likes_  you.”

Stiles would’ve suspected his father was being bribed into saying these things if not for the fact he knew his father would never take a bribe. He looked down at the letter, and figured the only explanation was that he wanted Stiles to decide for himself.

Even though he’d mostly already done so.

“Read the letter, kiddo.” His dad pulled him closer and kissed his temple, then stood with a grunt, moving back to his desk.

Stiles set the letter aside, pulling his computer back over and returning to his screenplay. His dad didn’t say anything, the two of them working in silence, but Stiles’ eyes kept darting to the letter. He didn’t know Derek Hale, not like his dad did. Stiles’ only memory of him was how he’d been in high school.

Stiles had been a freshman in Derek’s senior year, and all he remembered hearing about him was that he was a giant slut. He slept with every guy he could get his hands on, some of them who’d insisted they were straight, even while fucking or being fucked by Derek Hale.

He was coveted by a lot of people, because even then, he’d been attractive. And he was Captain of the lacrosse team. And he was smart. And could be kind, when he wasn’t busy being grumpy. But really, everyone just talked about how much he slept around all the time. Finding out he was the one calling to get off to Stiles’ voice shouldn’t really have been a surprise, considering, but the weird thing was that everyone always talked about how he couldn’t commit. How he jumped from person to person because he didn’t want to stick with one person, ever. But with Stiles... he’d called Spark _every_  Friday. And when he was Wolf, he’d called Spark every _day_. Always Spark. He’d never asked for anyone else.

That was out of character for someone with a history of changing partners as often as most people changed their shirts.

Letting out an annoyed huff, he tossed his laptop aside once more and snatched up the letter, crossing his legs under himself on the couch and beginning to read.

 _Sheriff Stilinski,_  
_I know nothing I say can convince you that I meant no harm with what I did, because you have the evidence of the damage I caused in front of you every day. No words can express how truly sorry I am for the pain I caused your son and, by extension, yourself. It was not my intention to do what I did, and the only reason I admitted it was because your son told me that I owed it to whoever I felt guilty about to admit the truth to them. So I did._  
_And it backfired. Horribly. But I deserved it._  
_I never meant to hurt Stiles. I never meant for things to get out of hand like they did. I am not going to justify anything that transpired, because there is no justification. There is no way for me to explain away or argue what I did. I was in the wrong. I did a terrible thing. I hurt someone I care about._  
_I know this may be hard to believe for you, because of his job, but I didn’t originally call for anything sexual. I called to get people off my back, and in the process, I met Stiles. I didn’t even like him, at first. He talked too much, and was excitable, and irritating. Truthfully, he aggravated me, but he was the only tolerable person I hit when I called the first few times, so I stuck with him to keep up the charade._  
_After a few weeks, I realized he wasn’t so bad. Yes, he was excitable, but he was also passionate, and engaging, and interesting. After a while, I found myself looking forward to our chats instead of dreading them. I found myself eager to speak to him, to be able to have a conversation with someone as Derek, instead of successful, rich businessman Derek Hale. I spoke to Stiles as myself, and he, in turn, responded in kind._  
_We got to know each other, insofar as we could without revealing our true identities. We formed a friendship of sorts, and that is where things began to go wrong._  
_As you recall, despite it never having been proven, I was a victim of sexual assault when I was in high school. Since then, I’ve found myself struggling to form meaningful connections with people. Mostly new people. Old friends are difficult to maintain because of this, but the few good ones I have I do not deserve. They have been with me through everything, and they warrant far more respect than I give them._  
_But new people? I’ve been unable to form meaningful relationships with anyone. The closest individual I can consider to be a new friend at this time is one of my employees who works in the HR department, and even then, our friendship is strictly professional. Because I cannot form relationships with people anymore._  
_That is what I thought, at least. Until Stiles. Until we started speaking, until I realized he was someone I could confide in, and rely on, and be myself with. The more we spoke, the more I relied on him, and the more I relied on him, the more I realized that I think I might be in love with him._  
_I know how this must seem to you, hearing this from someone who was calling your son at work and using his service for sexual means. The problem for me is that I am incapable of expressing myself. I would have asked him first, but I didn’t know how to progress a relationship like this, and I was scared of losing him because he meant so much to me._  
_He still does._  
_The day I told him the truth was the worst day I’ve had in years. I’ve never been so horrified since I was a teenager. Since horrible things happened to me. Because I knew it wasn’t about what I’d done, it was that I had done so behind his back. I had betrayed him, I’d broken his trust, and worst of all: I hadn’t fully considered his feelings in all this._  
_I only knew my side. I only knew how much I cared about him, but I didn’t know how much it would hurt him to realize someone he trusted had betrayed him so selfishly. I was in the wrong, and I can never come back from that. I will never be someone he trusts ever again._  
_And I understand you are his father. And I understand you care about him more than I could ever insist that I do. You want to protect him, to keep him safe, to ensure no one ever hurts him like I did ever again._  
_But sir, please. Please let me try and fix this. Please let me attempt to right this wrong with him. I am not an expressive person. I am not someone who discusses my feelings lightly. This letter has been redone numerous times, because everything feels too open, and I feel extremely exposed, but this is the only way I know to show you how much I love your son._  
_Sheriff, I love your son._  
_Not because of his job, but because of who he is. His laugh, his humour, his excitement about things, his passion for his writing, his dreams, everything. He is an amazing human being. He brought me back from a place I didn’t think I could escape from. I have never felt this level of pain at the loss of someone who wasn’t my family before. I have never cared about someone outside my family as much as I care about Stiles._  
_I know you’re looking out for him. I know you want what’s best for him. But please. Please, sheriff._  
_Please let me try and fix this._  
_If you say no. If you tell me to stay away from him, like you did weeks ago in my office, I respect you enough to listen. If you tell me to leave him alone, I will not disobey you._  
_But I am begging you. Sir, please let me fix this._  
_I don’t care how I have him in my life, so long as he is in it._  
_I love your son._  
_Please let me prove it to him._  
_Warmest Regards,_  
_Derek Hale._

Stiles scrubbed at his cheeks with the back of his free hand viciously, angry at himself for the wetness on them. He tossed the letter aside, pulling his laptop back into his lap, and sniffed loudly, clearing his throat before re-reading the last thing he’d typed and picking back up where he’d left off.

He could feel his dad watching him, and resolutely avoided looking up at him. He was mad. And confused. And annoyed.

Mostly mad.

Or maybe mostly confused.

Fuck, he didn’t know, but fuck Derek for making him feel this way!

He was making Stiles feel like a bad person for being pissed at him. This was _Derek’s_  fault! He shouldn’t have gone behind his back like that! He shouldn’t have fucking called him pretending to be someone else! He should’ve just _asked_  and then—

And then what? Stiles didn’t know what he’d have done. Would he have been okay with getting Derek off _knowing_  it was Derek? Or would he have gotten annoyed at the fact that the one person he thought didn’t see him that way wanted him _like that_?

And was Derek seriously so fucking inept that he couldn’t talk to Stiles like a normal person and admit he liked him and wanted more?

Then again, if he had, what would’ve separated him from Gerard? Barring the whole choking, bruising, cutting thing Gerard had going on.

And Derek had admitted the truth in the end, hadn’t he? Derek had been terrified, he’d insisted he would lose this person he’d wronged, and Stiles had pushed for him to do it. Had insisted it would probably be fine, that the person would understand, if only he explained everything to them.

Derek had done that. He’d done it, because Stiles had told him to. Because he’d felt guilty enough that he’d admitted it, even though he must’ve known it would’ve ended badly for him.

And maybe they could’ve fixed it back then. Maybe, if Stiles had stayed on the line, listened to him, calmed down a little bit, maybe they could’ve fixed it. Maybe this wouldn’t have gotten so out of hand. But he’d known his name, and that had broken everything, and now...

Stiles slapped his laptop shut and looked at his dad. “How did he know?”

“Know what?” his father asked, watching him.

“Who I was. How did he find out? You said he told you, so how was it?”

His father let out a small sigh, pulling his glasses off and leaning back in his chair, tossing the lenses onto the desk. “When his apartment was broken into, he came down to the station. He and I spoke, and when he left my office, you were here to see me. He says he knew it was you the moment he heard you speak, and when you came in and called me ‘dad,’ he realized you were my son.”

Stiles always knew he was one of the most well known people in town because of his dad. And to be fair, his service voice sounded very different from his regular voice, but Derek had been _hearing_ his regular voice for _months_.

If Stiles had turned on a television and Derek Hale _happened_  to be speaking, he would’ve figured out he was his Derek, too.

“He isn’t stalking me.”

“Not that I’m aware of,” the sheriff said, crossing his arms. “And he was genuine when he met me just now. I’m a pretty good judge of character.”

Stiles glanced at the letter.

“Do you believe him?” he asked quietly.

“Do you?”

Stiles looked back at his dad. “I don’t know.”

“What does your gut say?”

Glancing back at the letter, his eyes zeroed in on the words at the end. _I love your son._ It was such a huge thing to admit to someone, even if there was no guarantee they’d ever see it. Derek didn’t know that his father would read the letter. Even if the sheriff did, Derek didn’t know that he would pass it over for Stiles to read.

And even if he did, Derek didn’t know how much of an effect it would have on him.

“Stiles.”

He looked back at his father.

“You need to do what’s right for you. I can’t make this decision for you. All I can do is step aside, and tell him that it’s up to you. If you don’t want that, I can stick to my original order to stay away from you.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles admitted, because the letter was so fucking personal, and raw, and emotional, and just—no one had ever said anything like that to him before. Even though Derek was telling his dad all this, no one had _ever_  said anything like that before.

No one said he was passionate, or that they liked his laugh, or that they fucking _loved_  him. And Stiles had literally just been thinking about how much of a fucking slut Derek had been in school, and this letter was telling him _why_. Because he couldn’t form connections with people. Because he didn’t want to get hurt.

Now he’d formed one with Stiles.

And he’d been hurt.

His own doing, but he’d still been hurt. He’d still lost someone he seemed to care deeply about.

But how was Stiles ever supposed to trust him again? He knew getting people off was his job, but Derek had promised he would never call for that, and he _had_.

Apologizing for it didn’t make it go away. It didn’t make it right. It didn’t _fix_  things.

But Derek had even admitted that. He’d admitted that he knew it didn’t fix anything, which was why he wanted the opportunity to _try_. He wanted to _try_ and fix things. He wasn’t saying he would, or even that he _could_ , he just wanted to _try_.

Stiles turned and grabbed his bag, shoving his laptop into it and beginning to pack away his things.

“Going somewhere?”

“Home,” Stiles muttered. “I just—I need to think.”

“Shall I rescind my order never to come near you again?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles admitted, getting to his feet and throwing his strap over his shoulder. He turned to look at his dad, frowning slightly. “You seem strangely okay with this.”

“Derek Hale was never someone I perceived as a threat to you,” his dad said with a small shrug. “He’s just someone who hurt you, and I wanted to hurt him back for what he’d done. Childish of me, maybe, but you’re my son. He’s a good person, takes care of his staff, donates to charity.”

“Serial killers look like good people on the surface too, you know.”

The sheriff offered him a smile. “Yeah. I suppose they do, don’t they?”

Stiles hesitated. “What does your gut say?”

“About Derek?” Stiles nodded. “I think he was being honest in his letter. I think he just wants the opportunity to talk to you. I’m not saying I like it, and I’m not saying I’ll forgive him for anything he’s done, but if there’s one thing I can pick up without even trying, it’s genuine heartbreak. And that man I saw was heartbroken.”

“Dad,” Stiles insisted with a small groan. “Shut up, no he wasn’t.”

“Read that letter again, and tell me you believe yourself.”

Stiles glanced at it, but definitely didn’t want to read it again. He sighed and shook his head, muttered that he’d think about it—meaning what to do with Derek—and left the office.

When he woke up fourteen hours later, he still had no fucking idea what to do.

* * *

“If anyone asks for me,” Derek informed Erica while walking slowly towards his office with the woman at his side, “tell them I died.”

“Can I make it exciting? Like, were you murdered?”

“Sure. I was murdered. By people’s stupidity.”

“Oh, I love it,” Erica said, stopping at her desk just outside Derek’s office and grinning. He bypassed her and stepped through his office door, walking towards his desk while removing his suit jacket. He’d had a very annoying meeting with Peter and the Board of Directors about the way things were going in the company.

It wasn’t that things were going badly, it was more that they hadn’t really budgeted for the amount of new business they had this quarter, and their staff were being overworked because there weren’t enough bodies in the back office area. They could hire more people, it wouldn’t hurt their budget, but that meant they had to lose manpower training and reviewing the work being done, and it would only put more stress on the managers and their teams, so it was kind of a lose-lose situation. It would benefit everyone in the long run, but for now, it was kind of a mess.

Sighing and falling into his chair, he rubbed his face with both hands, then cleared his throat and unlocked his computer. It opened on his emails, of which he had over three hundred unread. He ignored the older ones, mostly because if they had waited this long, they could wait longer, and skimmed over the names in the first fifty emails.

He frowned when he caught one he didn’t recognize, though he knew the last name extremely well.

M. Stilinski.

He didn’t know the sheriff’s first name, but he assumed it was him. After all, it had been almost five days since he’d dropped off the letter, and Derek was just relieved to finally have an answer. Even if it was a negative one—though he hoped it wasn’t—at least he could finally stop _waiting_.

Clicking on the email before any of the others, he waited for it to load, read the one sentence, and then stared, not understanding.

_This changes nothing and I’m still royally fucking pissed at you!_

Why the hell would the sheriff be telling him that—

“Oh my God, it’s Stiles!” he blurted out to himself. It was very out of character for him, something made obvious when Erica appeared in his doorway, looking concerned, but it was just such a fucking shock that he hadn’t known how to react.

Stiles had emailed him! Stiles had fucking _spoken_  to him! Stiles had legitimately gone on the internet, looked up his firm, looked up Derek’s work email, and had fucking _emailed_  him!

Stiles was speaking to him!

He’d never hit a reply button so fast in his life, fingers stumbling over themselves to type back. He ignored Erica’s cocked eyebrow and jerked his chin at her to make her go away, continuing to type. She threw her hands in the air and exited his office, leaving him alone with his emails.

With _Stiles_. Jesus fucking Christ, _thank you_!

 _I know it doesn’t. I know it doesn’t change anything, and you have every right to be mad at me. I know what I did was wrong, and that you can never trust me again, but Stiles, I’m so fucking sorry. I’m not good with people, and you mattered SO MUCH, I just didn’t know how to proceed. I didn’t know how to move forward without it being weird, because it was never about your job to me, it was about YOU. And I just MISS you. I miss talking to you. I miss hearing about your life, about how things are going, how school is, your script. I miss hearing about everything about you, and I will never forgive myself for what I did, so I completely understand if you never forgive me, either._  
_Please just let me try and make it up to you. I’ll do anything. Literally anything. Please don’t cut me out. I’m sorry. Please._  
_Regards,_  
_Derek Hale._  
_Chief Operating Officer_  
_Hale & Hale Financial Group_

He re-read the email four times before finally sending it, leaning back in his seat and rubbing his face. It wasn’t exactly a good sign, Stiles’ email about how pissed he still was, but it was still a step forward. And if Stiles was emailing him, it meant his dad had decided to leave this to him.

Derek appreciated that so much. He wasn’t a stalker, he’d never been one, and he would _never_  be one. He’d found out who his son was by accident, and if nothing else, it seemed the sheriff believed him considering he was hearing from Stiles.

It took a conscious effort for him to work through his emails, because his mind was elsewhere, but he forced himself back to work. An hour later, Erica knocked on his office door because one of the VPs needed to speak to him about the upcoming budgets and halfway through their discussion, Derek saw an email notification pop up from M. Stilinski and his brain shut down.

He spent the rest of the conversation with the VP only hearing about every other word because he wanted it to end so he could read his email. It took a conscious effort for him to tune back in and provide some actual advice, and he was relieved when the man exited his office, turning quickly to his computer and clicking on the email.

 _Don’t fucking sign your name at the bottom like that! Don’t use who you are to get me to forgive you! I don’t fucking care who you are, DEREK HALE! I don’t! You’re still a fucking asshole!_  
_You PROMISED you would never do that to me, Derek! I don’t care how fucking childish it is to say that, it actually MEANT something to me! After all those fucking calls, having just ONE PERSON I could count on to be a decent human being meant EVERYTHING to me and you fucking RUINED it!_  
_Why did you do it? Why did you do it?! WHY WITH ME?! Why didn’t you ask for someone else?! Why did you have to fucking ruin EVERYTHING?!_

Derek hit the reply button and was about to respond when Erica spoke in his doorway, making him jump.

“So, not that I know what you’re doing over there or anything, because I definitely don’t look at your emails despite having access to your inbox because I’m your assistant who sees everything that goes on in your day, but say for whatever reason I _did_ , in fact, know what was going on, I just wanted to remind you that under company policy all emails are reviewed by our Compliance Department and if anything you’d rather keep private was happening right now, maybe it’d be best to communicate it outside company servers.” She shrugged. “It’s not like anyone but Peter saw the bills for the company phones, but emails, you know, those are reviewed and retrievable. Just saying.”

Derek stared at her, then looked back at the open email he was about to type in. Cursing, he pulled out his personal phone and opened a new email, Erica disappearing from the door.

It wasn’t that he cared if people knew he’d been calling Magical Encounters and had fallen for one of the operators. A lot of people already knew that, anyway. It was just that this fight was personal, and he didn’t want people in IT and Compliance talking about it because it was none of their business.

He carefully typed out Stiles’ email address—sarcasmismyonlydefense@gmail.com—and then sat at his desk tapping away on his phone, finding it extremely frustrating since it was slower than typing on a keyboard.

 _My signature is automatic, I wasn’t throwing that in your face, I’m sorry. I should’ve thought to delete it._  
_I shouldn’t have done it with you. You’re right, I should’ve asked for someone else. But you were the only person I wanted. Your voice calms me down, and after the first time, I couldn’t stop. Because hearing your voice just DID THINGS to me. And I wanted to ask you. Stiles, I wanted to call you and tell you that I needed to get off that day. I wanted to admit it, and to ask you to do it, to get me off, but I knew that if I did that, our relationship would change. I only lied because I didn’t want things to change in a negative way. I wanted things to stay how they were._  
_And I HATED that I did it. And I wish I could take it back. And I’m SORRY. But I told you! I told you because I couldn’t handle it anymore. I couldn’t lie to you anymore. You told me to be honest with the person I’d betrayed, and I was, because I knew you deserved to know._  
_I know nothing can fix what I did. I know I can’t change what happened. Stiles, please just let me make it up to you. I’ll do anything. I miss you. I miss talking to you so fucking much. I just want the chance to prove how sorry I am. Stiles, you mean EVERYTHING to me._  
_Please just let me try and fix this. If I can’t, you can hate me, I’ll accept that, but I just want to know I did everything I could to fix this before you completely shut me out._  
_Please Stiles._

Sending the email, he threw his phone onto his desk and rubbed his face. It was going to take a fucking miracle for Stiles to forgive him enough to talk to him without swearing at him. And even if he let Derek have the opportunity to make it up to him, he had no idea what he would do.

He didn’t want to flaunt his wealth. If he did that, Stiles would probably get _more_  pissed off. It would make him feel like he was trying to buy his affection and he _didn’t_  want that. But how was he supposed to fix something like this? He’d betrayed him so fucking spectacularly.

“Everything okay?”

Derek looked up, Erica inching into the office, hands behind her back. He almost told her to leave because he didn’t want to talk about it, but he remembered what she’d said back when he’d admitted the truth to her about all this. How she’d promised she and Boyd and Isaac would always be there. How they always _had_  been. He just needed to let them help him.

So, instead of waving her away, he tried to remember how much he’d relied on her in high school and he sighed, motioning for her to enter and close the door. She did so, moving to the chair across from him and taking a seat. When she crossed her legs, too much skin showed, but Derek didn’t comment on it. If he told her to wear longer skirts, she’d just come in with a shorter one tomorrow.

“Stiles emailed me.”

“I know.” Erica gave him a look. “I have access to your inbox, remember? I literally just reminded you of that.”

He grunted in response and rubbed his face again. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix this.” He dragged his hands down his cheeks, frowning at Erica. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“You and Boyd. I know you’re the perfect couple and everything is always peaches and candy, but when you fight, how do you fix it?”

“You can’t compare my relationship with Boyd to yours with Stiles,” she insisted, giving him a look. “We’re all different people, and the fights we all have require different resolutions.”

“So how do I find a resolution for having jerked off to the sound of someone’s voice when they thought I was a decent human being?”

Erica winced, clearly not having wanted that visual, but she didn’t leave which meant she was thinking. Her crossed leg was swinging slightly, the woman leaning back in her seat while she thought about it.

“I think we need to consider why he’s so upset.”

“Because I lied,” Derek said.

“Yes, you lied. But I think it’s more than that. I think it’s that you took advantage. You took something from him you promised you’d never take, and you forced him to show a side of himself to you that maybe he didn’t want you to see.”

Derek frowned. “So he feels exposed. Vulnerable.”

“Maybe,” Erica said, shrugging one shoulder. “Maybe he’s embarrassed. Maybe he cared about you enough to never want you to experience that side of him, and you did.”

“So... I need to embarrass myself to make it up to him?” Derek asked slowly, unsure of how that would even work.

“Maybe you just need to expose yourself in a way you’re uncomfortable with.” She made a face. “I don’t mean sexually, gross. But just—you’re not a very open person. You haven’t been for a long time. I think if you just... showed him the vulnerable side of yourself, the one you keep locked away, maybe he’ll think you’re on even ground.”

“That doesn’t sound meaningful enough,” Derek insisted.

“The fact that you’re immediately rejecting it means it’s something you don’t want to have to do,” Erica said, pointing her finger at him. “Derek Hale, you have not once spoken about your feelings without something catastrophic leading up to it. You want to know how Boyd and I solve our problems? By talking. You have the opportunity to _talk_  to Stiles, to show him that you didn’t mean to take something from him without his permission. If you have to get a little emotional, and prove you actually _do_  have feelings, then do it, or you don’t care about him enough.”

It couldn’t be that easy. Derek knew it couldn’t be that easy. But similarly, it sounded so fucking hard.

Writing that letter to the sheriff had been one of the most honest things he’d ever put into writing in his life, and it had taken him so fucking long to get the damn words out. If this was how he had to fix things with Stiles, he didn’t know that he could. He didn’t know that Stiles would consider it an equivalent exchange, and even if he did, Derek had no idea how he would force things out about himself.

He hadn’t been open about anything in so long, he didn’t even know how to start. Especially not with Stiles, who hated him. Who wanted nothing to do with him.

But he was still emailing. Stiles had still emailed him. Didn’t that mean he wanted to try and fix things? Didn’t that mean he was willing to give Derek a chance, if only he could say the right thing?

His phone dinged and both he and Erica glanced at it. A new email was on the home screen from M. Stilinski.

He wondered what Stiles’ name was, since it apparently began with an M.

“How much does he mean to you, Derek?” Erica asked quietly.

Derek reached out for his phone, pulling it closer and staring down at the home screen until it dimmed and went dark. He tapped it to wake it back up, the email still staring back at him.

“Everything,” he admitted. “He means everything to me.”

“Then you’ll find a way.”

He _had_  to find a way. Because he’d lost Stiles once.

No way was he losing him again.

* * *

Stiles was convinced his inability to get Tyler and Dylan on the same page was entirely, completely, one-hundred and thirty-thousand percent Derek Hale’s fault.

He’d had it all planned out. He’d had everything going exactly how he wanted, with the two of them constantly at odds, but doing little things that would bring them closer together. Even though Dylan kept insisting he hated Tyler, he never passed up the opportunity to save his life, even when it put his own at risk. Similarly, Tyler always put Dylan’s safety at the forefront, ensuring the human was out of danger before jumping into the fray to protect him.

Realistically, their relationship was evolving perfectly, and should easily transition from enemies to friends to lovers.

But now he was fucking stuck on the friends part because he was _so_  pissed off at Derek that he couldn’t see any feasible way of getting the two stubborn assholes together!

He felt like it was because he’d unconsciously been writing the two characters way too similarly to himself and Derek. Or, the Derek he’d known over the phone, anyway. And because Tyler was supposed to be Derek, Stiles was too pissed to let Dylan get with him or else he would be betrayed and would live a life of anger and bitterness towards people in love because love was stupid and it wasn’t fucking real!

And he still didn’t fucking _know_  how he felt, because since he’d emailed Derek three days ago, the other man consistently responded to his angry emails with the most personal answers Stiles had ever seen.

Stiles had demanded to know how Derek ever thought he could make it up to him, and Derek had responded with something along the lines of ‘by making myself as vulnerable as I made you when I called as Wolf.’

Which, what? That was fucking—it was—Stiles didn’t know, but it pissed him off! The answer pissed him off!

And he’d said so! He’d insisted that he hadn’t felt _vulnerable_ —even if he had—because it was his fucking _job_. He wasn’t _embarrassed_ —except he had been—and Derek was being a fucking asshole for thinking he understood anything about him—even if he did.

The next email he’d received had been ridiculously long, and had come in almost six hours later. And it had been a very detailed explanation of exactly what had happened to him as a person from the beginning to the end of Derek’s assault by Kate Argent. He obviously hadn’t spoken about the act itself, just commenting on it happening, but he had given him so much of himself that Stiles hadn’t known how to respond to it.

So he hadn’t.

And the next morning, he’d woken up to the raw emotions of how Derek had felt upon finding out his family had died. How he’d coped with it—or his lack of coping, more like. How he’d started pushing people away. How he didn’t want to care about anyone else ever again.

The next email had been about why he’d been how he’d been at school. Sleeping around, giving no shits, basically being a fucking asshole slut that literally everyone knew about. He admitted it started with the rape and came to a head when his family died. He’d used sex to try and understand what had happened to him, because the assault had affected his perception of a sexual relationship. After two years of that, of thinking sex was the only way to get anything out of life, he’d realized that wasn’t helping him. His already non-existent sex-drive had dried up completely and he’d moved out of that phase of constant fucking to complete abstinence. He also admitted his friends and family didn’t understand that side of him very well, which was likely why they kept insisting he’d be happier if he was getting laid. He’d been a mess in high school, but after years of careful disguise, they all thought he was mostly fine in that department. He hadn’t bothered to correct anyone.

Every few hours, Stiles would get a long and detailed email about all these vulnerable points in Derek’s life, up to and including the moment he realized he was in love with Stiles, and why he’d done what he did.

But it didn’t make it right! And it didn’t fix things! Even if some parts of what he said explained why he was so fucking stupid with what had happened, it still didn’t erase the fact that Stiles could never trust him to keep his word again.

Because _that_  was the problem, in his mind. He’d trusted Derek. He’d fucking _trusted_  him. And Derek had betrayed that trust so spectacularly.

But then he’d admitted to it. Derek could’ve just stopped calling as Wolf. He could’ve stopped and then never brought it up. He could’ve kept that secret to the end, continued on with Stiles as if he’d never done it. But he hadn’t.

He’d been honest. He’d admitted what he’d done. He’d broken Stiles’ trust, but recognized that, and had admitted his wrongdoings.

And really, wasn’t it easier to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission? Hadn’t Derek only done so because he hadn’t wanted to ask Stiles to do it when he _knew_  it was Derek?

And wouldn’t it have changed things? Stiles knew it would’ve changed things. If Derek had asked him that day. That first day when he’d called as Wolf, if he’d called as Derek instead and asked him to get him off, Stiles probably wouldn’t have been able to speak to Derek the same way anymore. And that was the problem for Derek, because he didn’t _want_  things to change, but he also did. He wanted two things he couldn’t have in tandem, so he’d created a second person so that he could have them both.

And then the guilt had eaten away at him, and he’d admitted the truth, and he’d lost both.

And the frustrating thing about all this was that Scott had betrayed him just as badly when he’d made out with Lydia. It was the same kind of dilemma, and he’d forgiven Scott after a week, but it just _felt_  different. He and Scott had known one another since childhood.

But then wasn’t Scott’s betrayal worse? Scott should’ve known better. Derek didn’t know Stiles like Scott did. Shouldn’t that have made all of this easier?

Stiles thunked his head on his desk, letting out a long sigh. “Why is life so fucking hard?”

No one answered. Which, really, was a relief, because he was meant to be home alone.

But what he wouldn’t give for a little wisdom.

It was hard to talk about this with his dad, because he didn’t want to remember where Stiles had worked. He couldn’t talk to any of his friends, because they were all stressed out or just unavailable, and none of them knew Stiles had worked where he did. He kind of wanted to talk to Tara about it, but she was still lying low right now given how pissed his father had been about the whole thing.

Maybe he’d talk to Parrish. The guy owed him, after all. He’d called in once. A disturbing thought, even though it had been years ago, but still. Something he could hold over his head for a while.

His phone buzzed beside him and he sighed, reaching for it without looking at it and answering the call, putting it to his ear.

“Hello?”

He heard nothing, and instantly sat up, pulling the phone away to check the caller.

Unknown.

Putting it back to his ear, he tightened his grip on it.

“Argent, I know it’s you.”

Still nothing.

Smart. If Stiles was recording the call, or if his dad had tapped his line, it would be easy to prove this was Gerard Argent if he said anything. By calling from an unregistered number, and saying nothing, there was no proof of anything.

Stiles could hear breathing on the other end, and he winced, wondering if Gerard was jerking off just knowing Stiles was on the line. Well, enough of that, then.

He hung up and tossed his phone aside.

Pulling his computer closer to himself so he could try and struggle through another few lines of his screenplay, his fingers froze when his doorbell rang.

“Don’t do it,” Stiles insisted to himself. “Don’t fucking do it, Stiles. You’re the spastic nerdy guy who lives to see the end of the movie. You’re not the moron who opens the door for the killer. Don’t fucking do it.”

The doorbell rang again and he cursed himself, jerking to his feet and grabbing his bat, pulling open his bedroom door and descending the stairs. He held the bat tightly in both hands, high over his head, while he inched closer to the door. There was a figure standing on the porch, but the light was off so he couldn’t make out who it was. They weren’t as wide as Gerard, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t Chris, so he proceeded forward slowly, the darkness of the first level making it easy for him to approach without being spotted.

The doorbell rang again, twice in succession, like the person outside was impatient.

Reaching the porch light, Stiles flicked it quickly, returning that hand to the bat and ready to start shouting profanities when he let out a whoosh of air.

“Christ, Parrish,” he said angrily, rubbing at his face and lowering the bat while moving to the front door. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” He pulled it open, shaking his head. “I thought you were—”

He cut himself off, because Parrish looked pale, and like he was going to be sick, and he reached forward to grip Stiles’ shoulder tightly with one hand.

All the blood drained right out of Stiles’ body.

“Stiles. I need you to come with me. It’s your dad.”

The bat fell from his hand.

* * *

“Did you hear?” Erica demanded the second Derek exited the elevator. He still had a coffee in one hand and his briefcase in the other. He wasn’t even fully _awake_  yet and already Erica was hounding him like an annoying fucking fly.

He was mentally and physically exhausted. He’d spent days pouring his heart out to Stiles, and it was fucking exhausting. He didn’t think it was even helping, Stiles barely responded to any of them. Then he had to come to work and deal with angry people, and the fucking budget which was coming due, and running a business.

He did not have time for Erica this early in the morning.

“I don’t care,” Derek informed her, moving into his office and setting his coffee down.

“Derek, the sheriff’s been shot.”

It felt like someone had just shocked him, electricity slamming through him and making his entire body jerk. He whipped around, knocking his coffee over, but he didn’t care, staring out at Erica, who was wringing her hands together.

“What? When? How?!”

“Last night. No one is sure what happened. He went out on a call to a disturbance, but it was just a noise complaint, people having a party. He didn’t come back from it, and then one of the deputies was radioed by a paramedic. Apparently one of the kids from the party saw him lying on the sidewalk bleeding out and called an ambulance. It’s all over the news.”

Derek instantly grabbed the remote for the TV he had across the room. He turned it on and changed channels from the stock market to the regular news. It wasn’t covering the sheriff’s shooting right then, but the bar at the bottom that scrolled the highlights had a mention of him being in critical condition.

“Stiles—”

“He’s there,” Erica confirmed. “At the hospital. Been there all night.”

“I want everything covered,” Derek ordered, moving back to his desk and setting his briefcase down, eyes on Erica. “You call the hospital and you cover _everything_. I don’t care how much it is, or how long he’s in there. You get him the best care, and the best of everything. Do _not_  let that man die.”

“Sure.” Erica turned and hurried back to her desk, Derek falling into his chair and rubbing his face with both hands.

Shit. _Shit_! He pulled his phone out, opening a new email to Stiles, and had barely started typing when Erica called to him from her desk.

“Derek, they’re saying it’s already being covered.”

He looked over at her, frowning. Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he stood and headed for the door. “What are you talking about? By who?”

She was still on the phone, and he barely listened while she and the person on the other end spoke, then a small smile formed on her lips before she looked up at Derek.

“You’re _never_  going to believe this.”

He stared at her for only a second, then realized exactly who was paying the sheriff’s hospital bills. Turning on his heel, he walked back to the elevator, stabbing the ‘up’ button. When it arrived, he took it to the top floor, exiting the lift and ignoring the cheery good morning from the secretary he passed.

Pushing open Peter’s door without bothering to knock, his uncle didn’t even glance up while he signed off on some papers, scratching at his chin for a second with the bottom of the pen.

“Good morning, nephew.”

“You didn’t tell me,” he said angrily, stopping in front of Peter. “You didn’t tell me the sheriff was in the hospital.”

“It was all over the news, I wasn’t aware I needed to keep you up to date on readily available information.” He still didn’t look up at him.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s still in surgery. My contact at the hospital promised to keep me updated.” He signed one last page and then put his pen down, finally looking up at Derek. “Are you here for a reason?”

“Why are you paying for it?” Derek demanded. “I was going to pay for it!”

“Does it matter?” Peter asked. “It’s being paid for, that’s the important thing.”

“Why didn’t you tell me so I could do it?” Derek demanded again.

“Let me explain something to you, nephew,” Peter said with a sigh, seeming done with the conversation. “If you pay for it, it looks like a bribe. It looks like you’re paying for the sheriff’s hospital bills so that his son will forgive you. If I pay for it, I’m doing it for the community. Because the sheriff is a good man and, even if you weren’t enamoured with his son, I would have done it anyway because he is not someone we can afford to lose. I did it for selfless reasons. You would’ve done it for yourself. I was saving you the moral dilemma.”

Derek wanted to be pissed at him. He wanted to yell at him and insist he was fucking wrong, he didn’t know what he was talking about, that he should mind his own fucking business.

But he couldn’t. Because now that he was thinking about it, Peter _wasn’t_  wrong.

Derek cared about the sheriff. He did. And honestly, if this had happened before his relationship with Stiles, he may have offered some funds because it was the right thing to do. He and Peter both really liked the sheriff, and they would’ve wanted to help him in any way they could.

But now? Now, with Stiles in the mix, and their weirdly messed up relationship, he hated to admit Peter was right. He was more worried about Stiles than his father. He wanted to pay off everything for _Stiles_ , and not because the sheriff was a good man. It didn’t make it any less meaningful, but it was true that Peter paying made it a lot less suspicious if Stiles ever found out about this.

Which he probably would, because he was likely worrying about both his father _and_  the money right now.

“Do we know what happened?”

“Wrong place, wrong time.” Peter shrugged one shoulder. “There are rumours of him seeing something he shouldn’t have.”

“Do we think it’s Argent?”

“No. It’s not their style,” Peter leaned back in his seat, folding his hands together. “They’re not going to risk something like this. It’s too public. I’m betting more on some kind of drug deal. The police are looking into it, and when the sheriff is conscious, he can shed more light on it.” Peter picked his pen back up and shuffled a few papers around. “Take the day off, Derek. You’re going to be useless to me today, and I don’t have time to babysit your hurt feelings.”

Derek scowled at him, definitely _not_  taking the day off, because he would obsess about this if he did. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” Peter signed his name on another page. “Get out of my office.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Derek turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door hard enough to have the secretary looking over at him nervously, but saying nothing. He moved to the elevator and called it again, then pulled out his phone and went back to the email draft he’d previously opened but hadn’t had a chance to actually type in.

_I just heard. I’m sorry, I didn’t know. If you need anything, please tell me. I don’t care how mad you are, I don’t care if we never fix this. I know how much he means to you. If you need anything, ANYTHING, I am here for you. I am always here for you._

* * *

Stiles was startled awake by a hand rubbing against his back, turning to look up at Melissa McCall. She smiled warmly at him, bending down slightly so that they were on the same level, since Stiles was sitting in a chair by his father’s bedside.

“Still here, then?” she asked softly, voice barely louder than the constant beeping coming from the various machines connected to the sheriff.

“I don’t have any reason to leave,” Stiles said, voice groggy. He scrubbed the sleep from his face, and sat up straight, having been sleeping with his crossed arms on the bed and his head resting on them.

“Your dad would disagree. You stink,” she teased, smiling slightly. “And when was the last time you had something to eat.”

“Yesterday?” Stiles frowned. “Maybe?”

She was still rubbing his back in a comforting fashion, and while it helped a little bit, it wasn’t his dad. It would never be as comforting as when it was his dad.

A lot of people had dropped by over the past few days. Tara, Parrish, Val, various other people from the precinct. Chris Argent had shown up, but Parrish was still in the room when that had happened and he made him leave. Chris looked extremely confused by this, but nobody offered him any explanations.

Stiles kind of felt bad, because if Chris had no idea how crazy his father was, he likely didn’t understand why the police were suddenly being so hostile with him. He’d just tried to visit, he probably didn’t know why that was such a bad thing.

Scott called, too. Well, he’d called his mother’s phone, because Stiles’ was still at home on his desk where he’d left it. He honestly wasn’t even sure he’d locked the front door, but was positive Parrish had made sure of it. He’d been sitting in the hospital since the moment Parrish had dropped him off, and he was exhausted and terrified.

His father’s surgery had gone well. He’d lost a lot of blood, but the bullet had missed most of his vital organs, and after a few hours of stressful waiting, he was out of surgery and stable. He’d woken up only twice in the past four days, but Stiles would take what he could get. He’d only left his side in brief stints to use the bathroom, get some water, and eat. And even the last one was very sparingly. He was sure he was going to lose a lot of weight if he continued like this, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave his father alone.

The last parent he’d left alone in the hospital had never walked out of it. He’d be damned if he lost his dad, too.

He’d been terrified about the hospital bill, because how the hell were they going to pay this off once everything was over, but Parrish just told him not to worry about it and it’d been taken care of. Stiles didn’t know what that meant, but everyone he voiced his concerns with insisted it was being covered, so he finally let it drop.

Melissa was the one to finally admit who it was.

Stiles was starting to wonder about Peter Hale. He was always around when Stiles needed him most, like some weird fairy godfather or something. A part of him wondered if it was because of Derek, or if he just happened to always be at the right place at the right time. Either way, he would never be able to thank the man enough.

He was definitely owed another gift basket.

“Sweetie,” Melissa said softly, still rubbing his back. “Go home. Take a shower. Eat some real food. Come back in the morning.”

“I’m not leaving him.”

“Stiles, you’re in bad shape,” Melissa insisted. “I promised Tara and Parrish I’d get you out of here for a few hours, at least. If I don’t, they’ll probably drag you out by force. Just for a few hours, okay? I promise, first thing in the morning, you can come back. Six am. Hell, five am. You can come back, I promise.”

“What if something happens while I’m gone?” Stiles asked quietly. “I can’t—I don’t want to leave him.”

“Stiles, your father is one of the strongest men I know.” She smiled at him. “He’d have to be to raise a troublemaker like you.”

Stiles let out a wet laugh, sniffing and wiping the back of his hand across his nose.

“Go. Just for a few hours. Take a shower. Get some sleep. Then you can come back. Okay?”

No. It wasn’t okay. It really wasn’t. But Melissa was right. He was really starting to smell, his stomach ached from hunger and worry, and his neck was beginning to hurt from the awkward sleeping position.

Glancing at the time, he saw it was just past eleven at night. He could go home, grab a quick shower, sleep for a few hours and be back before his dad even knew he was gone. He didn’t like it, but Melissa was right. Everyone was worried about him, and he wasn’t the one they needed to be focussing on. If taking off for a few hours would calm things down, then he could do that.

It’d feel good to take a shower. Hell, he could probably cry a little, too, and no one would know.

“Okay,” he muttered, climbing to his feet and wincing. He stretched, a few joints popping, and rolled his neck. When he turned, Melissa was holding out a set of keys, offering him a small smile.

“Val drove it over the other day. Figured you’d want something familiar.”

“Thanks.” He took his car keys, clenching his hand around them. Really, the officers his dad worked with were the best. They were like his family, and he loved all of them. Valerie knowing to get his Jeep and drive it to the hospital for him was the epitome of older sibling looking out for younger sibling’s needs.

“The back lot’s been closed because of construction, so she had to park it down the street in the public parkade. Do you want me to go with you?”

“Nah, I’m okay,” he insisted, shoving the keys in his pocket. “Thanks, though.” He turned back to look at his dad, hesitating. He didn’t want to leave him. “Watch him for me while I’m gone, okay? If anything happens—”

“It won’t,” Melissa promised, burying one hand in his hair and tugging him closer to kiss his forehead. “But if it does, I promise I’ll call you.”

“Thanks. The home phone, my cell is probably dead.” He reached out to squeeze his dad’s hand once, then let it go and turned to leave the room. It took every ounce of control he had to actually make it through the door.

Melissa walked him to the hospital entrance, kissing him once more before waving him on his way. He raised one exhausted hand in farewell and then wandered out into the darkness.

There were a lot of ‘no entry’ areas because of the construction, so he had to detour around a few places in the official hospital lot to get to the sidewalk. His mind kept going back to his dad, lying unconscious in the hospital bed, a gaping wound in his stomach.

Parrish wouldn’t keep him up to date on the case, but Stiles knew they had someone in custody. He hoped whoever it was suffered greatly for what he’d done. Or she’d done. He supposed it could be a woman. Either way, whoever it was, fuck them. He hoped they fucking rotted in a cell, forgotten by all, and died a nobody.

Fuck anyone who hurt his dad.

Stiles’ feet were dragging by the time he reached the underground lot. He didn’t know where the Jeep was parked, so he had to go to each level and wander around for a bit. It was made easy by the late hour, there were barely any cars there. Probably some of the hospital staff who couldn’t park in the regular lot.

He found his Jeep on the second level near the back and sighed in relief, pulling his keys out and walking slowly towards it. He ran his hand along the front, the feel of it familiar and comforting. Maybe when he went home he’d try and find something he could bring for his dad. Pictures and a comfortable sweater, whatever. Anything that was from home to help him feel better.

Stiles stuck the key in the lock and turned it, listening to all the doors unlock. Pulling it back out, he started to reach for the handle when he heard a shoe scuff against asphalt behind him.

He didn’t even get the chance to turn around. A hand was in his hair at the back of his head and pain exploded in his forehead when it was smashed forward into the driver’s side window. Stars danced in his vision, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he blacked out of not. He was still on his feet when his vision came back, stumbling sideways, but the hand was still in his hair, wrenching him backwards.

He let out a shout, and felt his head slam into the window again. There was wetness trailing down his forehead, and he heard a door open before he was manhandled roughly into the Jeep. He recognized that he was in the back seat, staring up at the ceiling, but his vision was hazy and he couldn’t figure out what was going on. He heard a door slam, someone on top of him, and then hands were at his throat.

His vision was still blurry, but that just meant he could see three Gerard Argents above him instead of just the one.

And he couldn’t breathe.

Because the hands around his neck were tightening, closing up his airways, and he couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t _fucking_  breathe.

Stiles’ brain went into panic mode and he began to punch at Gerard with both hands, clawing at his arms, digging blunt nails into him and forming angry lines of broken skin. The hands around his throat tightened and he choked, one hand still punching at Gerard while the other scrambled to loosen the hold.

“I told you, Stiles,” Gerard said, leaning down so that his hot breath ghosted along his cheek. “I told you what I wanted. All you had to do was give it to me. This could’ve turned out differently.”

Dots were dancing in his field of vision, and he was going to pass out.

Jesus fucking _Christ_ , he was going to pass out!

No!

No no no!

“Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy it. Just let go, and when you wake up, we can do everything we talked about. You’ll look so good under me, Stiles. Just like I always knew you would.”

His lungs were on fire, the edges of his vision were darkening. He was going to pass out.

He was going to pass out.

_He was going to pass out!_

Stiles was exhausted. He was fucking _tired_. And he’d just gotten his head bashed against a window _twice_. And now he was being choked. He felt like he had nothing left in him. He felt like he was never going to win this.

But his dad was in the hospital. His dad was fucking _injured_. And if he woke up and found out something had happened to Stiles, he was going to crash. He might fucking _die_. And Stiles couldn’t.

He couldn’t!

Not his dad! Not his _fucking_  dad!

He could feel his punches weakening, mouth open and struggling to gasp for oxygen. His vision was almost entirely dark, and if he didn’t do something _now_ , he was fucked. Gerard would have won and, just like Derek Hale, the Argents would get away with something they had no right to.

And his dad. His dad would be devastated.

Stiles summoned the last of the strength that he had, shifted beneath Gerard’s considerable weight, and drove one knee into his balls as hard as he could manage.

He was sure it wasn’t a strong hit, considering, but the good thing about being a man was that he knew how much it hurt to get hit there even if it wasn’t with a lot of force.

It was _just enough_ for Gerard to grunt and loosen his grip. Stiles sucked in air, coughing roughly, and then immediately began kicking and punching at Gerard violently. His vision was still swimming, but he was breathing, and he was _not_  letting Gerard win this.

He tried his best to keep aiming for the balls, but Gerard had one hand covering them, his face twisted in pain, but his other hand free and trying to get Stiles back under control. He wouldn’t let him, continuing to kick and flail, scratching at Gerard’s face with one hand and breaking skin. His other hand scrambled desperately behind himself, looking for the handle, and he finally got the door open.

Stiles kicked at Gerard again and twisted under him, yanking desperately at the edge of the back seat to drag himself forward. Gerard’s hand grabbed the hem of his jeans and pulled him back, but Stiles kicked him in the face. He heard a satisfying crack and the hand left him. He fell face-first out of the back door of the Jeep, landing hard. He tasted blood in his mouth and his hands and arms were scraped to shit, but he didn’t care. He scrambled to his feet desperately and bolted for the exit.

He had to get outside. He had to find a person. He didn’t care who he found, just _someone_!

His vision was still swimming, he could feel blood on his face, and it was hard to breathe. His throat felt like it was still being crushed, and he coughed roughly, stumbling his way up one of the ramps to the first parking level.

He could see the exit to the parkade up ahead and he ran for it as fast as his legs could carry him, needing to make it outside where he could flag someone down. Where he could find people.

He didn’t know if Gerard was behind him. He was too scared to check. He just kept running, his ragged breaths echoing in his head, and his feet slamming hard against the ground.

When he made it out of the parkade, he couldn’t find it in him to stop when he hit the street, running out right into the middle of it.

And because Stiles’ night couldn’t get any worse, that was when he got hit by the car.

* * *

Derek rubbed at his forehead with a sigh, trying to reconcile the numbers and getting frustrated that they weren’t working properly. They didn’t add up, and he didn’t know what he was doing wrong.

Pulling the calculator closer, he stabbed at the buttons, adding the numbers together, but they still refused to give him the outcome he wanted. Which was frustrating, because even as he typed in the same numbers over and over, he kept getting a different answer.

How was that even possible? It wasn’t. It _wasn’t_  possible.

He grunted when someone knocked on his door, glancing up briefly in time to see Peter wandering in, giving him a look.

“What are you still doing here? You know what time it is, don’t you?”

“Budgets,” Derek grunted, eyes still on the numbers.

“Budgets aren’t due until Monday. You have all weekend to work on them.”

“I’d like to enjoy my weekend,” Derek insisted, throwing his pen down in frustration and leaning back in his seat. He rubbed at his face, exhaustion setting in, and glanced at the time on his work phone. It was just past eleven.

He hadn’t realized how late it was.

Peter had literally driven all the way back to work for him. He’d probably stopped by Derek’s and realized he wasn’t home. There was only one place he would be at this hour if he wasn’t home.

“You’ll never sort this out if you’re exhausted.” Peter patted the desk lightly. “Come, nephew. Let’s get you home.”

He wanted to argue, because if he left this now, he was probably going to procrastinate it all weekend and then scramble to get it done on Sunday evening, but Peter was right.

Annoyingly, he often was. It was a wonder he didn’t win more bets against Erica.

Derek had been staring at the numbers for hours, and they weren’t doing what he wanted. If he stuck around much longer, he was just going to get pissed off, and that wouldn’t solve anything. Besides, he also hadn’t eaten, so he was getting hangry.

“Fine,” he grumbled, closing his pen and putting it into his breast pocket. He stood then and began gathering his things, being sure to collect all the papers he would need to work on the budgets at home. He put everything into his briefcase, closed it, then turned off his computer for the weekend.

He followed Peter out of the office, turning off the light, and locked his door behind himself. They walked to the elevator together, Derek pulling out his phone and trying to squash the disappointment when he saw nothing new from Stiles.

He tried not to be upset about it. Stiles was likely still with his father at the hospital, and Derek was probably the last thing on his mind right now. But he hadn’t heard from him since the beginning of all this, and he wanted to make sure Stiles was okay. Even just one message saying ‘fuck you’ would’ve been enough. He just wanted to know he was doing okay.

“The sheriff’s stable,” Peter said once they were in the elevator and Derek had put his phone away. “Heard he should make a full recovery with enough rest.”

“That’s good,” Derek said sincerely. “I’m glad he’s going to be okay.”

“He’s a good man,” Peter said.

Derek hummed his agreement, the two of them stepping out once they were in the garage.

Peter’s sleek Mercedes was parked beside Derek’s Camaro, since they had assigned parking and they were the two owners of the firm. Derek tossed his briefcase into the passenger seat while getting behind the wheel, Peter starting his car and zooming out at breakneck speed like a maniac.

Sighing, Derek slammed his door and stuck his key in the ignition. He started the car, listened to it try and turn over, but nothing happened. Frowning, he tried again. And again, then sighed and rubbed at his face. He was too fucking tired to deal with this.

He must’ve forgotten to turn his lights off. It had been dark when he’d come in that morning at half-past five. He wasn’t used to needing his lights in the morning so he’d likely forgotten to turn them off.

Derek climbed out of the car and headed out towards the end of the lot closer to the exit, pulling his phone out and watching for when a bar finally appeared. Once his phone confirmed a signal, he called Peter, listening to it ring a few times before he answered, voice echoing since he was probably using the car’s bluetooth.

_“Miss me already?”_

“My car won’t start.”

_“And you called me instead of a mechanic?”_

Sometimes he really hated Peter. “Will you just turn around and come get me?”

_“Aw, nephew. You **do**  love me.”_

Derek just hung up on him and went back to his car, pulling his briefcase out and then locking it up to be dealt with in the morning.

He only had to wait five minutes for Peter’s Mercedes to appear in the lot once more. The man stopped beside him and Derek opened the passenger-side door, climbing in and slamming it shut.

The last thing he needed right now was to be stuck with his uncle for the ride home, but it was that or wait for a cab, and he was too lazy to wait that long.

“So how are things with you?” Peter asked with a jovial smile.

“Fine.”

“Hm.” Peter said nothing for a moment. “You know the polite thing to do when someone asks how things are going is to ask them back.”

“It implies I care.” Derek looked at him. “Which I don’t.”

“You wound me, nephew.”

“Fatally, I hope,” Derek muttered.

“Since I have you, we should discuss our staff party this winter.”

Derek couldn’t hold back the groan, thinking maybe a cab would’ve been better after all. Their winter staff party was several _months_  away, they had so much time.

He leaned his head back on the head-rest while Peter discussed the different options he’d been considering. They could do a hotel event like the previous year, but not many people had shown up because the nicer hotels were out of town, and that was where the event had been held. They could also commandeer the local pub, but it wasn’t the most posh place in town, so that was debatable, as well.

Peter was still discussing all the pros and cons, looking over at him for his opinion when Derek saw movement out of the corner of his eye and someone flew in front of the car.

“Peter!”

His uncle had already slammed on the brakes, but he’d been going too fast, and the fucking idiot had come out of _nowhere_. A body slammed onto the hood, smashed into the windshield, causing the entire thing to crackle in a huge spiderweb formation, and then the body rolled right back off the hood, landing hard on the ground.

“Shit,” Peter hissed, going for his door. “We’re gonna get _sued_.”

“It was their fault,” Derek argued, already climbing out of the car and moving around to the front.

His breath froze in his lungs at the figure attempting to get back to his feet, even as one leg was bent at an impossible angle.

“Stiles!” He rushed to his side, and when Stiles turned to look at him, it was like he couldn’t even see him. His eyes were wide and panicked, and he looked like he’d hit his head on something _other_  than Peter’s car. His neck had red marks that were quickly darkening, and he looked terrified.

Derek bent down beside him and almost fell over when Stiles threw one arm out, wrapping it tightly around him. His other was cradled against his own chest, like he couldn’t move it, and he clung to Derek desperately.

He had no idea what was going on, but Derek wrapped both arms around him tightly, Peter on the phone beside him asking for an ambulance.

It took him a few seconds to realize Stiles was speaking. His voice sounded wrong. Hoarse. Like he was having trouble forcing the words out.

“I can’t run. I can’t run. Please don’t leave me here. Please. I can’t run.”

“Stiles,” Derek insisted, tightening his hold on him. Stiles was pulling at his shirt so hard that it was starting to choke him a little bit. “Stiles, it’s me. It’s Derek.”

It was like Stiles couldn’t hear him, because he just kept insisting that he couldn’t run, that something was wrong with his leg, to please not leave him. Derek just tightened his hold on him, trying to get him to calm down.

And then Peter spoke.

“Derek. Stay with him, and hold your temper.”

Derek looked up and felt his vision go red.

“Thank God someone caught up to him,” Gerard Argent said, sauntering out of the parkade with scratches on his face, blood cascading from his nose, and a clearly dishevelled appearance. “Went completely bonkers. Slipped and banged his head against his Jeep. I tried to help him, and he went crazy.”

Stiles’ grip had tightened to an almost painful degree at the sound of Gerard’s voice and Derek responded in kind, clutching him tightly even as sirens sounded from nearby. The hospital was right down the street, it wouldn’t take them long.

“I’m right here,” Derek promised. “I’m right here, Stiles.”

“Is he all right?” Gerard asked. When he went to take a step forward, Peter moved directly into his path, voice colder than Derek had ever heard it.

“An ambulance is coming. It would be best to leave this to the professionals.”

“Make sure someone checks his head out. Poor boy was very confused.”

“I’m sure he was,” Peter said darkly. “Thank goodness you were here, Gerard. Heavens knows what might have happened to him otherwise.”

Derek turned and saw an ambulance screaming down the street towards them. He really hoped it stopped before it hit them. Thankfully, it did, and paramedics jumped out, rushing to his side. Stiles wouldn’t let him go, panicked out of his mind. Derek assumed being hit by the car had shut his brain down, because he didn’t seem to be in any pain, though Derek was certain he was.

The paramedics had to pry Stiles’ arm off Derek so they could get him onto a gurney, but he just closed his hand around the front of Derek’s shirt. When it became clear he wasn’t going to let go without a fight, the paramedics just told Derek to get in the back and he awkwardly climbed in, gripping Stiles’ wrist tightly with one hand, the other brushing his hair back.

He looked like shit. It looked like he hadn’t been sleeping, he smelled a little strongly of body odour, like he hadn’t showered in a few days, and he had various cuts and bruises all along his visible skin. His neck looked terrible, and even as Derek listened to the paramedics talking to Peter and Gerard, he could tell the marks were getting darker.

And then a thought occurred to him, and only Stiles’ death grip on his shirt stopped him from jumping out of the ambulance and beating the unholy shit out of Gerard.

_“But he asks for more, like what I look like, how I would sound if he was choking me, how old I am, where I went to school.”_

What he would sound like if he was choking him.

Gerard had fucking _choked_  Stiles. He’d wrapped his hands around his throat, and squeezed, and Derek was _livid_!

It was a lucky thing the doors slammed and the ambulance began to move then, because he was ready to tear his shirt to get out of Stiles’ grip and attack Gerard. Probably a good thing Peter was the one staying behind.

The paramedics were speaking to him and to Stiles, but he couldn’t answer any of their questions and Stiles seemed to be in shock. One of them told the driver to call his dad, clearly recognizing that it was Stiles, and the driver responded that his father was still in the hospital.

They turned to Derek, asking him who they should call, but he didn’t know. He had no idea who needed to know.

Pulling out his phone with his free hand, moving it out of Stiles’ hair, he scrolled through his contacts to a number he hadn’t called in weeks and put it to his ear.

_“Hello, than—”_

“It’s Derek, I need to talk to your boss now, Stiles is hurt.”

The line clicked and a familiar voice answered.

_“Hello?”_

“It’s Derek. I’m in an ambulance with Stiles. His dad’s in the hospital. I don’t know who else to call.”

 _“Is he okay? What happened? I’m on my way.”_  She hung up before he could even answer any of her questions.

They pulled into the emergency entrance and Derek had to jump down with the gurney while the paramedics tried _again_  to get his hand to release Derek’s shirt.

“Oh my God! Oh my _God_! Stiles!”

A nurse appeared at Derek’s side and for the first time since he’d found him on the road, recognition clicked and Stiles released Derek’s shirt, reaching out for the nurse. She closed her hand tightly in his, racing along beside the gurney, and Derek was forced to stop by another party when they moved through a set of doors he wasn’t welcome to cross.

Derek stood in the middle of the corridor, watching the doors slide shut, with absolutely no idea what to do. He was devastated, and furious, and heartbroken, and fucking _raging_. How _dare_  the Argents try and take something else from someone without their consent!

Kate had stolen his innocence.

Gerard was trying to steal Stiles’ spark.

He had no idea how long he stood there fuming, but a hand fell on his shoulder, squeezing hard, and he turned to see Peter beside him, jaw set and eyes hard, staring at the same door Derek was looking at.

“Tell me we have something,” Derek ordered him. “Peter, you fucking _tell me_ we have something.”

Peter turned to look at him, expression closed off, but his words had Derek relaxing instantly.

“It would appear there was no cell reception inside the parkade. Deputy Parrish is on his way to pick up a tape now. The whole system was locked down the moment I made the call. Nothing can be touched until the police arrive, and a copy’s already been made.”

They got him.

They fucking _got him_!

It had taken years. It had taken fucking _years_ for Derek to get some kind of closure over what happened to him, and he didn’t care that it wasn’t Kate. He didn’t care that it wasn’t for his benefit.

Gerard was fucking _screwed_ and Derek was _thrilled_.

Peter’s hand tightened on his shoulder and he started to pull him towards some seats when a woman raced through the doors. Her eyes found Derek, and he didn’t need to ask who she was, because her urgency made that obvious.

“Where is he?”

“In there.” Derek motioned the doors. “A nurse was with him. Seemed to know him.”

“Melissa.” The woman turned and rushed away, heading for a desk with some people stationed there.

Derek wanted to know how bad it was. He wanted to grab someone and demand an answer, but he also knew they’d just pulled him in and they didn’t know how serious it was yet. All Derek knew was that his leg was messed up and he’d likely hurt one of his arms. Both had been on the impact side from Peter’s car hitting him, and Derek was pissed off that they’d added to his injuries.

He couldn’t stop replaying Stiles’ desperate “I can’t run” comment in his head. It was like he was so fucking scared he couldn’t even feel the pain he was in. All he could acknowledge was that his leg wasn’t working and he couldn’t escape.

Derek couldn’t fucking wait to nail Gerard Argent to the motherfucking _wall_.

* * *

Stiles didn’t realize it was possible to feel so much fucking pain all at once, but when he was slowly coming back from an amazing dream he couldn’t even remember, it felt like every single inch of him was clamouring for attention. It hurt to swallow, he had a pounding headache, his arms and hands were itchy, and his left leg felt like it was broken.

Actually, he was pretty sure his left leg _was_  broken.

His brain was working to figure out what the fuck had happened, and slowly, sluggishly, the events that had transpired when he’d last been conscious began to trickle in. He’d been at the Jeep. Gerard had smashed his head against the window. He’d gotten him in the back. He’d been choking him. Stiles got away. He got hit by a car.

He wasn’t sure what happened after that, but with the way he felt, the sounds he heard and the smells in his room, he knew he was in the hospital. Well, at least he was safe. Hopefully he’d made it there before anything had happened.

It took a conscious effort to get his eyes open, the room entirely too bright, even though he could tell the lights had been dimmed. Someone was gripping his right hand hard enough for it to hurt and he turned his head as much as he could without hurting himself.

“You should be in bed,” Stiles managed to get out, voice sounding hoarse and rough even to his own ears.

His dad was crying. He hated it when his dad cried, it was the hardest thing in the world to witness. He hated that he was the reason he was crying.

The sheriff stood unsteadily, still wearing a hospital gown, and reached out with his free hand to bury it in Stiles’ still unwashed hair, kissing at his forehead and then pressing his own against it.

“You can’t do that to me, Stiles. You can’t. I thought I lost you.”

Stiles tried to move his other arm and pain made his vision crackle. When he glanced down at it, he found it in a cast from elbow to hand.

Great. So he had a broken arm _and_  a broken leg. That was just fucking great.

“Is he awake?”

Stiles looked past his dad and saw Tara in the doorway. She smiled, shutting the door and moved over beside the bed, taking a seat to his dad’s right and reaching out to put her hand on his closest leg. The one not in a cast.

Because he had a broken leg, along with his broken arm, because his life was awesome that way.

“Hey you. How’re you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a car,” he muttered. “I _did_  get hit by a car, right?”

“You did,” she agreed. “It was an accident.”

“Well I sure hope they didn’t hit me on purpose.” His throat was really hurting, and he wanted to stop talking, but he couldn’t. “I need to talk to a police officer. Once who _isn’t_  in the hospital with a bullet wound in his gut.”

“We’ll get Parrish in a minute, he’s outside,” Tara said. “He hasn’t left since he got here yesterday.”

“Mm.” Stiles felt groggy, and he had to wonder how much pain he was in if he had medication trying to dull it and he could _still_  feel it. “Are you okay?” he asked his dad, who was still pressing his forehead against his.

“Better now.” He moved the hand out of Stiles’ hair to his cheek, cradling it comfortingly. “I’m so much better now.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Thirty-one hours,” Tara informed him, reaching out and putting her hand on the sheriff’s shoulder, trying to get him to sit back down. He was still injured, so Stiles was thankful. “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse. The car was going pretty fast.”

“It’s not the car that’s at fault,” Stiles insisted, but the looks on both their faces suggested they already knew that. “Who hit me, anyway?”

“Peter Hale.”

Stiles tried to wrack his memory for Peter’s face in it, but he couldn’t find it. Though he did remember clinging to someone and asking for help. His stomach twisted when he realized who that might’ve been, given if Peter had hit him, it was entirely likely there was someone else in the car.

“Was Derek...” He didn’t know how to ask the question.

His dad’s face closed off and Tara winced. “Um, Derek Hale’s been arrested.”

“Why?” Stiles asked, confused.

“Because he got himself arrested on purpose for indecent exposure, and ended up in the same cell as Gerard Argent. He then proceeded to beat the shit out of him.”

“There’s no proof he was arrested on purpose, and there’s no proof it was him who hurt Argent,” his father said, voice even and eyes still on Stiles. “There was a glitch with the security cameras, so no one can prove it was Derek’s doing. He should be out in a few hours, his arrest for public indecency wasn’t serious. And, as you know, we can’t charge someone for something that we can’t prove.”

Stiles had to wonder how many officers had looked the other way while Derek Hale had been wailing on the old man. He wished he could feel some pity for Gerard, but he didn’t. That fucking asshole deserved every swing he got, Stiles was just mad it wasn’t him doing the swinging.

“Was he with Peter? When I got hit, I mean.”

“He’s the one who called me,” Tara said with a soft smile. “He said he didn’t know who else to call.”

Stiles smiled. He’d have reached out for her hand, but one was in a cast and the other his dad was still trying to crush in his own, so he was a little low on limbs. He opened his mouth to ask a question when the door opened.

He barely caught a glimpse of Melissa before she began to sob. It took him a few seconds to realize why.

Because she was the one who’d made him leave. She was the one who’d told him to go home.

But it wasn’t her fault, and he didn’t blame her, and when she approached the bed, he managed to free his trapped hand and he reached out for one of hers, squeezing tightly while she apologized over and over. In a way, it was better this way.

At least now Stiles knew he would be okay. Gerard was in jail—he didn’t know how they’d managed to make that stick, but if Derek had to get arrested to reach him, clearly it was because he was in jail.

The crying brought Parrish in, who looked so fucking relieved it hurt. He moved to the other side of the bed, gripping Stiles’ shoulder tightly, and he realized how much he loved these people. How much they loved him. While everything that had led to this moment was fucking awful, and he was already dreading having to relive it with Parrish, at least he knew he’d be okay.

Melissa and Tara left the room a few minutes later, Parrish putting his police face on while he asked Stiles questions. His dad was clutching his hand tightly the whole time he spoke, and once he was finished giving Parrish his statement, the deputy confirmed that they had most of it on camera. It was hard to see exactly what had happened inside the Jeep, but Stiles’ flailing limbs and his desperate escape—along with Gerard’s initial attempts to brain him against the window—were looking very bad for him. He’d already tried to make bail, but Peter Hale had argued with the judge setting the bail and it ended up being denied.

Apparently Peter was also paying his hospital bill, though Parrish joked it was probably so that Stiles wouldn’t sue him. Stiles was by no means interested in suing Peter Hale, because time and again he had been there for him when he needed him most.

He really _was_  like some weird fairy godfather.

And Derek... He wished he could remember more from after he was hit, but it was mostly a blur. He just remembered clinging desperately to someone, and he knew it had to be Derek. He couldn’t imagine how hard that must’ve been for Derek, seeing an Argent coming at him, after what had happened to Derek himself.

Stiles waited until his dad was ushered back to his own room before asking Parrish for a mirror. His neck was a fucking mess, deep purple bruises and various cuts and scrapes along his face. His hands ached and were covered with abrasions, as was his uncovered arm, but the bruising on his neck was by far the worst.

His hand was shaking when he set the mirror down, but he had to remind himself everything was okay. He’d beaten this. Gerard was fucking sick, and he was in jail, and Stiles had won.

He’d fucking _won_.

Gerard was never touching him again.

* * *

Derek winced and had to stop writing so he could shake his hand out, the aches and pains he’d felt in his knuckles since he’d beaten Gerard Argent hitting him sporadically. It had been almost two weeks since that day, and his bruises had long since healed, but he was fairly certain he’d broken his hand and he hadn’t gone to see anyone.

When the officers had returned to the cell a few hours later and seen Gerard’s state, they’d informed Derek he was free to go and had opened the door for him to exit. He’d walked out with bloody knuckles and hadn’t looked back.

He couldn’t begin to imagine how pissed off the officers had been. The sheriff was their boss, he’d been working there for years. A majority of them had probably watched Stiles grow up, probably knew him even better than Derek did. He was like the entire precinct’s son, and he couldn’t even pretend to know how they had felt when Gerard had been brought in. He couldn’t imagine how many of them wanted to beat his face in, fucking hurt him, _murder_  him. But they were officers of the law, and the men and women of the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department were good people. They obeyed the law. They followed the rules. So no one touched him.

But Derek Hale had limits.

Derek Hale had been raped by Kate Argent, and had been forced to watch her walk out of the precinct less than half an hour later with a brilliant smile on her face and not a care in the world.

Derek Hale had been forced to crouch beside a terrified man _that he **loved**_ , who was injured, and bruised, and clinging to him desperately while Gerard Argent sauntered out of a deserted parkade without a fucking care in the world.

Peter had confirmed they had him. He’d confirmed the police could charge him for this, that he was going away, that he was going to be held until trial, and would get locked up because there was no way he was going to get away with this.

But that wasn’t good enough. That wasn’t _nearly_  good enough for what he’d done.

Derek wasn’t proud of his actions, but fuck did he not regret them one God damn iota. He couldn’t think of a way to get into that cell, so he’d gone to the police station and promptly taken all his clothes off. It was the only thing he could think of to do that would get him arrested and into the same holding cell as Gerard.

And most of the officers knew who Derek was. They knew what Stiles meant to him, because everyone in the precinct cared about Stiles. So they’d had no problems telling him he was under arrest and asking him to put his clothes back on.

He did so without complaint, and when Gerard saw him coming, he just smirked at him and insisted he couldn’t touch him because it was assault.

And Derek, oh Derek had repeated the same fucking words Gerard had told him when he was sixteen years old and in the police station waiting for Kate to get hers.

Derek had said, “Only if you can prove it.”

And the officer who locked the door behind him had said, “Our cameras have been acting up lately, we’re gonna have to shut the whole system down and reboot it. Should take about ten minutes.”

And Derek had said, “That’s a shame. I’m sorry to hear that.”

And Gerard had looked scared.

But not nearly as scared as Stiles had looked when Derek had exited Peter’s car.

Because Gerard Argent had hidden behind his money his entire fucking life, and now, _now_  he was getting what he deserved.

He had been gone for just over four days, now. Sent off to a facility that held inmates who were pending trial, and with all the evidence against him, Derek knew this was the end for him. He knew that, whenever people spoke of the Argents, they would remember back when Derek Hale had claimed Kate had raped him, and they hadn’t believed him. They would remember that time the sheriff’s son had been attacked in a parking garage. They would remember the Argents were bad people.

Though Derek did feel a little bad for Chris Argent. He didn’t know the man very well, but it had been a huge blow to him to find out what his father had done. He hadn’t justified it, or argued it. He’d just kept his head down, and Derek had heard his house was for sale. Even Chris couldn’t come back from the damage his father had caused. It was a little upsetting to realize the man had done nothing wrong himself and was paying for it, but at the same time, good riddance.

If Chris left, Kate could never visit again, and he was sure she was going to stay far, _far_  away now that news of her father had spread through the town. The Argents were fucking ruined, and Derek was thrilled.

Though he’d be much happier if the budget was working out, because he still hadn’t finished it and it was now two weeks overdue. To be fair, he’d been a little distracted lately, but Peter was starting to ride his ass on it, so he had to get it done today.

He was massaging his injured right hand with his left one, eyes on the numbers and thinking maybe, just _maybe_  he had them down properly, when Erica knocked on his door. He grunted in response, eyes still on the papers in front of him.

“Hey. So, you got mad at me the last time I did this without asking, so I figured I’d ask you this time. Apparently the sheriff and his son are downstairs and refusing to leave unless—”

It took a second for the words to register but once they did, Derek’s head shot up. “What?!”

Erica opened her mouth to repeat herself but he just jerked to his feet and rushed past her out the door, hurrying down the corridor as quickly as he could without actually running.

“I could’ve just—they could’ve been brought up!” Erica called after him as he stabbed the ‘down’ button repeatedly. “Okay. Sure. Just make my position obsolete, no problem.”

The elevator arrived after what felt like an eternity and Derek hurried into it, pushing the ground floor continuously as the doors shut. He knew it wouldn’t make it go any faster, but he just kept pressing it, hoping it magically would. When the doors opened for the lobby, he rushed out and towards the doors, then forced himself to slow and straighten his jacket out when he saw the sheriff and Stiles over by the entrance.

Stiles was in a wheelchair, likely because he couldn’t use crutches since he had a broken arm _and_  a broken leg. Derek hated that those injuries were Peter’s fault, but it definitely hadn’t been on purpose. He was just glad nothing more permanent had happened.

The sheriff was the first to notice him approach and Stiles turned to look at him. Derek cleared his throat awkwardly, moving up beside them and nodding in greeting.

“Sheriff. Stiles.”

“Hello Derek,” the sheriff said, one hand on the left handle of Stiles’ wheelchair. “I see you’re dressed today.”

Derek almost laughed. “Yes, I thought it might be a good idea to be dressed for work.” He offered the man a smile. “You’re looking well.”

“As good as I can be,” he commented, then shifted his hand to Stiles’ shoulder, squeezing it. “Stiles was hoping to have a minute of your time.”

“I can speak for myself, you know,” Stiles insisted, rolling his eyes and turning to look at his dad. “I’m _injured_ , not incompetent.”

“Debatable,” the sheriff said with a fond smile, patting his shoulder and looking back at Derek. “I’ll be over there when you’re done.” He motioned the small coffee shop at the other end of the lobby and wandered away, hands in his pockets. Derek noticed he was limping slightly and wondered if it was because he was trying to compensate for his injured side.

He didn’t dwell on it, turning back to Stiles, who was looking down at Derek’s shoes, his uninjured hand around one wheel, moving the chair forward and backward about an inch each way.

“Hi Stiles,” he said quietly.

“Hey Derek,” Stiles responded, clearly out of sorts.

Derek’s eyes were on the bruising around his neck. Two weeks, and it was still there. More green and yellow than anything else, but still fucking there and he _hated_  it.

“How are you feeling?”

Stiles shrugged one shoulder. “Fine, I guess. Cast on my arm should be off in the next month or so. Break wasn’t too bad, but they want to be sure. Leg’s gonna take longer, another six to eight.”

“Sorry about that,” Derek said. “Peter didn’t mean to hit you.”

“I ran into the road, kind of my fault.”

“You had a good reason for it.”

The chair’s movement stopped. “Yeah,” he said quietly. He brought his good hand up to his hair, raking it through the strands, and finally looked up at Derek. “Can we talk? You know, somewhere less open?”

Derek hesitated. “If you’re comfortable, I can bring you to my office. If not, we can always find a free boardroom, if you’d prefer. Or we can go to the coffee shop, though that isn’t very private.”

Stiles glanced at the coffee shop and made a face, likely because his dad was there. “Your office is good.” He motioned behind himself. “Can you–?”

“Sure.”

Derek moved around behind the chair and began pushing it towards the elevators. He leaned around Stiles to press the ‘up’ button, even though Stiles could’ve hit it himself.

They waited in silence until the doors opened. A few people stepped out, giving Stiles double-takes, but none of them seemed to notice the man behind him was Derek Hale. He just waited for them all to exit, and then pushed Stiles into the lift, swiping his access card and hitting the button for his floor. When the doors closed, he carefully turned the chair around so Stiles was facing them once more, and then watched the numbers creep up.

Once they reached his floor, he pushed Stiles out of the lift, and tried to ignore the women in HR to his left who had gone silent. He just moved down the corridor to his office, Erica stepping out from behind her desk and grinning at them.

“Damn, Stilinski, look at you. You grew up fine. Last time I saw you, you were tripping over your own feet in the hallway.”

“I recognize you,” Stiles said slowly. Then he snapped his fingers and said, “You’re the girl who got caught streaking during the last lacrosse game of the year when I was a freshman!”

“That’s me,” Erica was still grinning. She held out her hand. “Erica Reyes.”

“Stiles Stilinski.” He shook it with his good hand and she waggled her eyebrows at Derek.

“You know, for someone who chose to like you based only on your voice, Derek lucked out.”

“Stop talking before I fire you again,” Derek said quickly, pushing Stiles around her and into his office.

“Still don’t report to you!” Erica called, even as Derek slammed the door in her face.

He really should’ve thought through the whole ‘friend as his assistant’ thing before hiring her. But fuck if she wasn’t good at her job.

Turning back to Stiles, he moved him a bit closer to the desk and, because he didn’t want things to be weird, he sat down in one of the guest chairs on the same side as Stiles instead of in his usual seat. It would be too formal if he sat there, and this wasn’t supposed to be formal.

Stiles was inspecting every inch of his face while they sat in silence. Derek let him, hands clasped together between his knees, eyes raking over him more openly now that he was actually allowed.

God he was stunning. Derek was sure Stiles would hate to be called that aloud, but he truly was. Derek didn’t know if being in love with him made him more desirable or not, but he really thought he was the most attractive person he’d ever fucking seen.

“Thank you.”

Derek’s eyes shot up from Stiles’ lips and he frowned. “For what?”

Stiles let out a small laugh, shrugging one shoulder. “Everything? My dad’s hospital bill, mine, helping me when Gerard came at me, getting him put away.” Stiles glanced down at Derek’s hands. “Beating him up.”

“He deserved worse.” Without thinking, Derek reached out one hand, lightly touching Stiles’ neck where the bruising was.

Surprisingly, he let him, though Stiles _did_  tense.

He let his fingers ghost along the bruises, able to see imprints of Gerard’s thumbs in the bruising. He scowled, letting his hand drop.

“It shouldn’t have gotten that far.”

“It wouldn’t have, but he caught me off-guard.” Stiles raked his good hand through his hair. “I was tired, and worried about my dad, and it was late. It was my fault it—”

“No,” Derek said, anger creeping into his tone. Stiles froze, giving him a weird look. “This wasn’t your fault. Nothing that happened was _your_  fault. The Argents are sick, twisted assholes who think money can buy them whatever they want. And if it can’t, they take it, and use their money to cover it up. What happened to you was wrong, and I hope Gerard gets worse than what I gave him where he’s going.”

Stiles almost half-smiled at that, but nodded instead of saying anything. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Derek unsure what to say, and Stiles seeming to weigh his words. After a while, he finally spoke again.

“Why did you do it?” he asked quietly.

Derek didn’t need him to elaborate. He’d explained this a few times already, but never verbally, and certainly not in person. Stiles probably needed to hear it, to _see_  how sincere he was.

“Because I didn’t know how to ask you. Because I’ve wanted you for a long time, and I didn’t know how to ask without making it weird.”

Stiles played with a stain on his jeans, avoiding looking at Derek, and nodded, like he was thinking.

“It was never about the sexual part, Stiles,” Derek insisted, tone soft. “I fell for _you_ , and then I...” Okay, this was going to be embarrassing, and he still hadn’t told anyone this, but he knew if there was one person he _had_  to tell, it was Stiles. “That day when I got home, I was in the shower beating off for almost ten minutes, and I couldn’t come.”

Stiles didn’t look up, but he cocked an eyebrow. “For real? Is that even possible?”

“Apparently,” Derek muttered, ignoring the way his neck heated. “I wanted to get off so bad, and it just—I couldn’t. And I did what I promised I would never do, and I’m _sorry_ , but I just—I almost came within thirty seconds of you speaking to me. I wasn’t even touching myself, just your voice was enough, and I couldn’t...” He trailed off, trying again. “Stiles, you were what I wanted. What I _still_  want. I didn’t almost come because of your voice, I almost came because it was _you_. Because for the first time in a long time, I had someone that I wanted to get intimate with. Someone I wanted to go out with, hold hands with, go to dinner with, spend _time_  with. And I guess... I guess it was just easier to be Wolf and get a part of what I wish I had, than be Derek and know it was never going to happen.”

Stiles still wasn’t looking at him, scratching at the mark on his jeans. “It might have,” he said quietly.

“Do you honestly think if things hadn’t turned out the way they did that you ever would’ve wanted to meet me in person?”

Stiles shrugged. “Maybe?”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

A loud sigh escaped him and Stiles raked his hand through his hair again, finally looking up at him.

God he had gorgeous eyes. It hurt having him this close, because Derek was scared it would never happen again.

“What do you want from me, man?”

“I just want to talk,” Derek said. “Like we did before. About nothing. About everything. I just want to have someone I know I can call if I need someone to talk to. You have no idea how much I needed those Fridays with you. You don’t know how much it cost me to admit the truth to you.”

Stiles watched him for a moment, then sighed and shook his head. “Fridays, then. Half an hour. That’s it.”

Derek would take it. It wasn’t what he wanted, but he would fucking _take_  it!

“Thank you. I can live with that. Half an hour with you, I can live with that.”

Stiles was still staring at him then, and he let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Jesus, you really _do_  suck with people, huh?”

“Why do you think it took me calling a sex hotline to make a new friend?” Derek asked, half-smiling.

“You’re kind of sad,” Stiles informed him.

“That’s fine. As long as I get you for half an hour, that’s fine.”

Stiles laughed again, and God how Derek had missed that laugh.

God how much he’d missed his Spark.

* * *

“That’s unrealistic,” Stiles insisted, typing with one hand and trying valiantly to keep his injured one immobile. It still had the cast on it, since it had only been three days since his meeting with Derek, but he was hoping he could get it off sooner rather than later. Having two broken limbs on the same side was really fucking inconvenient, not to mention sleeping was hard because he _refused_  to sleep on his back.

_“Just because it doesn’t conform with all the other shows in existence doesn’t mean it’s unrealistic. Your show is about Werewolves, realism’s a little far-fetched at this point.”_

And damn it all to hell if Derek wasn’t right.

“I just feel like there’s no build-up.”

 _“You wrote an entire season of build-up!”_ Derek insisted. _“Dylan’s nineteen, Tyler is probably going to die unless you decide to spare him—which I hope you do. Just let the guy have his confession.”_

Stiles let out nonsensical noises and let his head fall against his desk, pressing his cheek to the wood and staring at his phone. It was on speaker, and even though they’d only been on the phone for about twenty minutes, it was weird how easily they’d gone back to their usual routine.

Not to say Stiles had forgotten what Derek had done, but he found he was less mad at him while they sat there and talked about the script. He was still _mad_ , but just... less so. He was starting to get over it.

It wasn’t like Stiles had never made a mistake. And Scott had betrayed him when he made out with Lydia, and he’d forgiven him for that. He realized the only reason it was harder with Derek was because it was an ongoing thing. It hadn’t been Scott kissing Lydia once. It was like Scott making out with Lydia for _weeks_  without telling him.

He figured Derek was trying. He’d opened up in those emails, he’d admitted his dilemma in person, they were trying to talk through things. It would take time, but Derek really seemed to care about him, so he tried not to hold it against him.

Derek was trying. So Stiles would try, too.

Predictably when Stiles had answered his phone, Derek’s first question had been about his script and what he’d missed the past few months. Stiles had automatically returned with a comment about Derek only talking to him to get to his script, and things had just kind of... gone from there. As always. As normal.

It was weird. Not unpleasant, but weird.

He hadn’t been working on the screenplay much lately, because he’d hit a wall—which he still _fully_  blamed Derek for—so there hadn’t been much to recount. Now Derek was all caught up and he was already challenging Stiles’ ideas.

Which, when Stiles thought about it, was part of the reason he’d been so stuck. Aside from being mad at Derek, the other man was very good to bounce ideas off of, and now Stiles was trying to figure out how to move forward with some of the things they’d been talking about.

They argued and poked fun at one another for a while longer when Stiles heard an alarm go off in the background and he frowned.

Then Derek said, _“My time’s up.”_

It was very reminiscent of back when Derek had been calling Magical Encounters to get people off his back.

And now that he had Derek on the phone, he didn’t really want him to leave.

Which was extremely confusing.

“You don’t have to,” Stiles said quietly. “If you don’t want to.”

_“Thanks, Stiles. But you gave me half an hour on Fridays. I’m not gonna push my luck. I’d rather this than nothing at all. When you’re comfortable giving me more time, trust me, I’ll take it.”_

Stiles wanted to argue, but similarly they were slowly trying to get back to some semblance of normal, so he just pressed his lips together and nodded to himself.

“Good night, Derek.”

_“Good night, Stiles.”_

The line clicked and the call ended.

Stiles shut off his phone’s screen and returned to his homework, attempting to write out notes of what he and Derek had been discussing with one hand. Thankfully, because of everything that had happened, Stiles had been given an extension for most of his classes, but he was hoping to get his grades back up sooner rather than later.

As the days passed, he did his best _not_  to think about Derek as much as humanly possible, because it was weird, and confusing, and he was still pretty mad. But after a week had passed and his phone rang once again at six-thirty on the dot the following Friday, he couldn’t help but smile when he answered it.

This was a routine he’d grown accustomed to. Something he’d looked forward to for so many months. It was weird how different things were now that he had it back. It was like things were back to how they were supposed to be.

Which was totally weird, when he really thought about it. He was phone friends with Derek Hale. Who had once also jerked off to the sound of his voice. Who was in love with him.

He had no idea how any of this had happened.

Two weeks later, Stiles excitedly told Derek that the cast on his arm had been removed, but he had to be careful with it because while the break had healed, the arm was still weak. He had to do some physiotherapy for a little while, but the cast was _off_!

Derek had been really happy to hear about it, and they’d spent that entire half hour comparing broken bones.

Stiles beat Derek by four, which was hilarious considering two of them were kind of Derek’s fault. Well, Peter’s, but Derek had been in the car with him.

By the time another week had passed, most of Stiles’ injuries had disappeared barring his leg, and the week after that, his final cast came off and he was a free man. He kept talking about it as long as Derek would listen to him, which seemed to be an extremely long time.

And every time the alarm went off, it made him sad, because he didn’t want Derek to hang up. But every time, Derek insisted that he wasn’t going to press his luck.

When the alarm went off this time, Derek bid him farewell and Stiles blurted out, “Derek, wait.”

_“Yeah?”_

Stiles didn’t know what he wanted to say to him. He just didn’t want them to hang up yet. His mind was completely blank and he blurted out, “Was I any good?”

Derek was silent for a long while. _“What?”_

“Nothing. Never mind. I don’t know why I said that, I didn’t—”

_“Yes.”_

“Yes what?”

_“Yes, you were good. You were the best.”_

Stiles felt heat creeping up the back of his neck at how low Derek’s voice had just gone. He wondered if that was how he’d sounded every time they’d spoken when he was Wolf, but Stiles had never known because of the voice modulator.

“Good to know, okay talk soon, bye!”

He hung up, let out a groan, and let his head fall down against his desk.

“Seriously?” he muttered to himself. “Was I any good? I was fucking amazing, why did I _ask_  him that?”

Derek Hale was going to be the fucking death of him.

* * *

Derek was exhausted. He was exhausted, and pissed off, and having a shitty evening, and all he wanted to do was take a fucking shower and get into bed to watch a crappy movie. Was that too fucking much to ask?

Apparently so, because he was now striding through his bedroom, soaking wet with a towel around his waist, storming over to his cell phone, which hadn’t stopped ringing for the past two fucking minutes.

Snatching the damn thing off his nightstand, he answered it and had it halfway to his ear with a snarl on his lips before the name on the screen registered and he managed to tone it down, his voice coming out a little strangely at the last second shift.

“Stiles?”

 _“Hey.”_ Stiles sounded hesitant. Uncertain.

It was Tuesday.

They never spoke on Tuesdays.

They only ever spoke on Fridays.

And Stiles never called.

Never.

_“Are you—sorry, I didn’t... Are you busy? I didn’t mean to—I can call back, or—”_

“No,” Derek said quickly, sitting on his bed, then immediately standing since he was still wet. “No, I wasn’t doing anything. I was literally just—it’s fine. Hi. How are you?”

_“I’m good. Just—got my grades back. Wanted to tell you about it.”_

“Oh yeah?” Derek smiled fondly, moving back to the bathroom and shutting the shower off. He was mostly clean, it was fine. He didn’t need to finish washing himself down. “How’d you do?”

_“A few B’s and an A. So an improvement from earlier this semester.”_

“That’s great, Stiles. Are you happy?”

 _“I guess. Could’ve done with more A’s, but I figure I had a long year so, you know.”_ Stiles sounded unsure, like he didn’t know what he was doing.

Derek frowned. “Are you okay?”

_“Hm? Oh, yeah. I’m fine. I just—I’ve never called you before. It’s weird, for some reason. Being the one to initiate it. I’m not used to it. I feel like I’m bugging you.”_

“You’re never bugging me.” Derek sat down on the edge of the tub, pulling the towel up when it started to slide down slightly. “I’m really glad to hear your voice.”

_“Bad day?”_

“They don’t get any easier, that’s for sure. Need to hire some more people for one of the departments, but it’s kind of a brainless job so most people won’t go for it.”

Stiles was silent for a moment. _“I need a job for the summer,”_ he said slowly. _“More than one, actually. Is it—I mean, would it be weird if I applied?”_

Derek smiled. “No. It wouldn’t be weird. It’s not my department, so whether you got hired or not would be entirely up to the hiring manager. I wouldn’t even know about it unless I had to sign off on the offer letter.”

_“Cool. I mean, I applied there before and they were going to offer me the job until we started talking about my hours. I just didn’t know if it’d be weird, what with me kind of sleeping with one of the head honchos.”_

“You’re not sleeping with me,” Derek insisted, rolling his eyes. _I wish,_ he added silently.

 _“Well, I mean I kinda was. Unbeknownst to me, but still.”_ And then, Stiles lowered his voice, and it shot straight to Derek’s groin. _“You remember, don’t you Derek?”_

“Don’t do that,” he snapped, one hand pressing hard against his dick over the towel. He had a lot of memories of that voice, and he didn’t need to complicate things now that they were on good terms.

 _“I’m just teasing, yeesh.”_ Stiles paused. _“What did you sound like, anyway?”_

Derek frowned. “What?”

_“When I got you off. I only ever heard the fake voice you used. What did you sound like?”_

“I don’t know? Why are you asking me that?” Wasn’t this whole thing how their problems had started in the first place? Derek was trying to move _away_ from their time on the phone when he was jerking off to his voice.

_“Come on, fair’s fair. I’m just curious. You heard me.”_

“I didn’t hear you at all,” Derek snapped. “You were just pretending!”

 _“Fair. I used to play solitaire while I got you off.”_ Stiles was silent for a long while. _“Hey Derek?”_

“What?”

_“Were you just in the shower when I called?”_

Derek could only assume Stiles had heard him shut the water off. “Yeah.”

_“So... are you naked right now?”_

“Why does it matter?”

Stiles was silent for a long while, and when he exhaled, Derek heard how shaky it was and frowned again.

_“My dad’s not home.”_

“Okay?”

_“So I was thinking maybe you owe me.”_

“Owe you what?” Derek’s dick was _not_  getting any softer the longer this conversation continued. It just seemed a little surreal, because this was what had started their problems to begin with. But then again, it was only because Derek had _lied_.

And it had been a month and a half since they’d started talking again. It had been a while since Stiles had been angry. Slowly but surely, they were fixing this. But Derek couldn’t help but feel like this was a test.

It this was a test, he’d already failed, because his dick was getting harder by the second.

 _“I’ve never gotten off to someone’s voice in my ear before,”_ Stiles said into the phone, a mix of his normal voice and his service one. _“I never really got it, to be honest. But it worked for you, so I figure you owe me one.”_

Derek’s heart was pounding in his chest. Christ, this was a test, and he was failing it so spectacularly, he just _knew_ it.

“You’re not serious.”

_“Do I not sound serious?”_

“You’re just playing with me.”

_“No, I’m not. We’re doing the honesty thing, right Derek? Well, honestly, I was going to jerk off before I called you. Haven’t really done that in a while, for obvious reasons. And I had my hand on my dick, and I closed my eyes, and your face was what I pictured. And I wasn’t okay with that. Because I didn’t want to jerk off thinking about you without telling you, or I’m a hypocrite. So I’m going to jerk off right now, with you on the phone, but only if you’re willing to do that with me.”_

Derek’s towel was on the floor, one hand slapping at the bathroom light to turn it off, and he was striding into his room before Stiles had even finished speaking. He hit the bedroom lights as well, mostly because he wanted to make this as real as possible, and fell onto his bed, heart slamming against his ribs and free hand itching to touch himself.

“I can’t do what you can,” he told him. Because it was true. “I’ll do my best, but I’m not you.”

 _“That’s good, or it’d be really weird getting off to the sound of my own voice,”_ Stiles said with a small laugh.

“How do you want to do this? Do you like fucking people? Or do you prefer being fucked?”

 _“I’m impartial, really. But I feel like you’d do me real good.”_ Stiles’ voice lowered and Derek’s dick was completely hard now. _“You’d be good to me, right Derek?”_

“I would fucking do anything you wanted,” he agreed, his own voice lowering unintentionally.

He heard Stiles let out a harsh exhale, like he was trying not to laugh. There was some shuffling, and then louder ambient noise.

_“I put you on speaker so I can use both hands. Try not to get too loud.”_

“You seem more like a screamer than I do.” Derek’s hand was clenching and unclenching against his thigh. “How do you want me. Do you like being on your back?”

 _“No,”_ Stiles said immediately and Derek frowned. _“No, I’m not—being on my back isn’t good for me right now. It, uh... I can’t do that right now.”_

It took a second for Derek to realize what had just happened. Shit, Gerard. Stiles was probably going to have issues having sex on his back for a long time, if he ever did at all. Derek felt like he could understand that. It was very easy for someone to wrap their hands around his throat and he probably never wanted to be that vulnerable again.

“On your stomach it is. Doggy-style. That’s hot.”

 _“Wow, you’re really turning me on,”_ Stiles said dryly, but Derek heard him shifting and took the opportunity to do the same.

The room was dark save for the light coming from the bottom of the bedroom door leading out into the corridor, and his phone. He put it on speaker, getting to his hands and knees, and wished he had a picture of Stiles that he could stare at.

Then again, that might make this weird. Not that this wasn’t already weird, considering, but he wasn’t going to complain about it.

_“Can I make a request?”_

“Anything.”

_“Oh, so we’re both on speaker. You need two hands too, big guy? Your dick really that big?”_

Derek rolled his eyes. “What do you want, Stiles?”

_“You call me ‘baby’ even **once** , and I’m hanging up on you.”_

“Deal. I don’t think I’ve ever come close to calling you that.”

_“True. Okay. Okay, so we’re doing this. Not weird at all. Totally fine.”_

“Stiles,” Derek said with a fond smile. “Shut up and touch yourself.”

 _“How is this not totally weird?”_ Stiles grumbled. Derek just laughed, getting more comfortable on his knees and shutting his eyes. He wrapped one hand around the tip of his dick, tightening it as much as he felt he could handle and slowly thrusting into his hand. He brought the other one up to brace it against the headboard, head bowed and thoughts on Stiles.

He hadn’t allowed himself to do this thinking about Stiles in so long. Being able to jerk off with him in his head, speaking to him over the phone, it was fucking amazing. He was probably going to come so fucking hard. This was the next best thing to _actually_ fucking Stiles.

Stiles exhaled sharply on the other end, then muttered, _“Shit.”_

“How many fingers have you got in there?” Derek asked with a small smile. “Are you pretending they’re mine? Or even my dick?”

 _“Shut up,”_ Stiles insisted.

“That’s not how this works, Stiles. You should know better.” He grinned to himself, then leaned closer to the phone and whispered, “I’d do you real good, Stiles.”

 _“Jesus, shit,”_ Stiles groaned, stretching out all the vowels. _“Fuck, Derek.”_

There was a difference. It was insane to realize it, because Stiles had always been so good at his job, but there was a _definite_  difference. Stiles’ breath was hitching at random intervals, his words were a cross between his normal tone and his service tone, he would let out small grunts that he tried to bite down on so they weren’t loud enough to be caught by the phone.

This was Stiles actually getting off while on the phone with him.

Derek’s hand tightened around his cock, his breathing more ragged than it had been moments before because this was Stiles fucking jerking off to _his_  voice. This was Stiles actually getting off while they were on the phone together.

Derek was nowhere near being at Stiles’ level for this kind of thing, but every time they’d done this in the past, Stiles always talked to him, and it got him off so fucking fast. Not that he wanted to rush this, but he wanted Stiles to feel good.

So if he had to be a little embarrassing and say dirty things, he could do that.

“Does it feel good? Can you feel me sliding into you?” He tightened his grip on his dick, thrusting harder. “I’d fuck you so slow, Stiles. So fucking slow, until you were incoherent, pushing back into me, trying to get me to speed up.”

He worked his hand a little slower, trying to match his words, trying to pretend it was actually Stiles he was pushing into at that moment.

 _“Fuck, Derek,”_ he moaned loudly into the phone, breath hitching. _“Fuck, I bet you feel so fucking good. I’d clench so tight around you. I know that’s what you like.”_

Derek tightened his grip further, to an almost painful degree. “You know exactly what I like. You’re so good to me, Stiles.” It was weird repeating some of the words Stiles had once said to him back to the source, but he understood why it worked so well, now. Especially when you liked the person on the other end, because Stiles’ moans grew in volume, even though he was clearly trying to muffle them in his pillow.

“Are you gonna come soon? You better not, we’re not finished yet.”

A high-pitched whine came over the line, and Derek groaned, bowing his head and tightening his hand around the headboard at the realization that Stiles had just stopped himself from coming.

 _“Fuck, oh fuck, Derek...”_ He was groaning again, his breathing increasing in speed.

Derek’s hand began pumping him faster. “Want to go faster? I can go faster for you. Whatever you want. Anything you want, Stiles.”

_“Fuck, please. Please, please, please...”_

“You gonna come for me now?” Derek asked, feeling his thighs beginning to shake and his balls tightening. “Come on, Stiles, do it. I know you want to. I’m going to fucking fill you up good, so come for me.”

Stiles’ moan was positively filthy and Derek clenched his eyes shut, chest tight as he came, letting out a harsh exhale and sucking another breath in while he continued to pump himself, cum hitting his thighs and bedspread.

He realized, only belatedly, that he probably should’ve brought the towel, because now he had to wash his blankets. _Worth it,_ he decided.

Especially since he could still hear Stiles gasping on the other end, breathing harsh and almost desperate. Derek let out a small laugh, releasing his cock and sitting back on his ass, pulling the phone over with his clean hand.

“You okay over there?”

 _“Fuck,”_ Stiles said between breaths. _“Shit. That was so much better than I thought it would be.”_

“Makes a difference when you like who’s on the other end,” he said without thinking, then froze. “Not that I think you like me. I just meant, for me, it works well because—”

 _“I know what you meant, Derek, don’t have an aneurism.”_ Stiles grunted, like he was sitting up. _“I gotta wash my hands, be right back.”_

“Sure.”

He listened to Stiles’ footsteps recede, and then there was nothing but the ambient noise of his bedroom. It sounded like he had a fan on.

Taking the opportunity to clean up as well, Derek stood when he was sure his legs could hold him, and headed for the bathroom. He set his phone down on the counter and thoroughly washed his hands. Grabbing a cloth, he wet it and cleaned himself up, hissing at how sensitive his dick was.

Tossing the cloth into the shower to be dealt with later, he went back to his room with his phone and turned on the lights. Only his covers had gotten cum on them, so he set his phone down and got to work stripping them from the bed so he could bring them downstairs to the washer. He was halfway down the stairs with the phone off speaker and wedged between his neck and ear when he heard Stiles coming back.

_“I do like you, you know.”_

Derek’s phone fell and he cursed, dropping the blanket and chasing after his phone, which had fallen down the stairs.

By some miracle, the screen hadn’t cracked, and he thanked the protective case it was in before putting the phone back to his ear. “What?”

_“Considering you dropped your phone, I know you heard me.”_

Derek felt himself smiling. “Wouldn’t mind hearing it again, you know.”

 _“I’ll bet.”_ Stiles paused. _“Hey Derek?”_

“Yeah?”

_“What’s your favourite thing about me?”_

That was a hard question to answer. He liked a great many things about Stiles. His personality, his humour, his laugh. His fucking _hands_. God, Derek loved his hands. He hadn’t gotten to see them many times, but he had fucking _amazing_ hands.

But his _favourite_ thing?

“Your laugh,” he admitted. “I really like your laugh.”

_“Really? Of all the things, it’s that?”_

“It’s infectious,” Derek argued, returning to his blanket and wedging the phone more securely between head and shoulder. He picked the mass of material up and started back down the stairs. “I’ve always liked your laugh. It makes me happy to hear it.”

_“Well I feel like a dick, now, because my favourite thing about you is your beard.”_

Derek laughed. “My beard? Really?”

_“Yeah, dude. Makes you look all rugged and handsome. I want to rub my face against it.”_

“I wouldn’t stop you,” he admitted, using two fingers to open the washer and shoving the blanket inside. He shut it with a loud bang, popping a Tide pod into the soap area and starting the machine.

_“Are you doing laundry?”_

“I dirtied my blankets, didn’t want to leave them like that overnight.”

 _“Good call. I should probably do the same thing.”_ A pause, like he was checking something. _“And it’s late. I should probably sleep. I have a fun day of applying to jobs tomorrow.”_

“Good luck.”

 _“Thanks.”_ Another pause. _“Hey Derek?”_

He’d been saying that a lot tonight.

“Hey Stiles?”

_“It’s not... I mean, what we have. What we’re doing. It’s not all—it’s not just lust for you, right? Like, if I said we were never doing this again, you wouldn’t...”_

“It’s not lust,” Derek promised, figuring he’d save him from having to finish his thought. “This was a fun evening, but if we never did it again, I wouldn’t mind as long as we were still talking.”

_“Right. Can I—I mean, we can talk more. If you want. Not just Fridays. You can text me. If you want.”_

Derek smiled. “I do. I’d really like that.”

_“Cool. I’ll uh, I’m gonna go. I’ll text you tomorrow or something, okay?”_

“Sounds good. And Stiles?”

_“Yeah, what’s up?”_

Derek grinned and lowered his voice. “Was it good for you?”

 _“Oh fuck you, Hale!”_ Stiles hung up.

Derek just laughed, because even with just those four words, he could tell that Stiles was embarrassed at just _how_ fucking good it had been.

Things were starting to look up.

* * *

Stiles followed along behind the woman leading him across the department, pointing people out and giving him more names than he knew what to do with. They bypassed the desk she said would be his and headed across the open space to a small kitchenette, where a Nespresso machine sat with various coloured coffee pods.

He’d have to tell Tara about that, because the girls would be jealous.

The woman continued pointing things out as they moved along, leading him down to the staff room the floor below, and back up a different way so they could pass the men’s bathroom.

They did a giant loop until they were back at their department and she motioned his cubicle once more, Stiles taking a seat and nodding to his neighbour with a small smile. She smiled back, but didn’t say anything, typing away on her keyboard and clearly busy. He’d been told to arrive an hour after the usual start time, likely so they could ensure everything was in order for him before he got there.

“Here’s your pass,” his boss said, holding out a white keycard the size of a credit card. “Your username and password for the various programs you need are here.” She pulled an email out from under the keyboard. “Make sure you change them. Liam will be your trainer,” she motioned a guy who was caddy-corner to him, speaking somewhat angrily into his headset, “and if you need anything, just let someone know. We’re a good team here, we help each other, so don’t hesitate to ask for help.”

“Thanks.”

She nodded and went to sit down a few seats away from him, Stiles pulling the printed email closer and logging onto his computer with the information provided. He went about locating and opening all the programs referenced on the page that he could find, along with his outlook inbox, wincing when he saw his name at the top.

He kind of wished they could’ve just called him Stiles. Even his damn name plate said his real name.

“Hey.”

Stiles turned and saw that Liam guy pulling up a chair beside him, offering a hand. Stiles took it and gave it a firm shake.

“Liam. Looks like I’m your trainer today.”

“Stiles,” he said in response.

“Oh, thank God, I was worried I’d have to figure out how to pronounce that monster.” He motioned vaguely at Stiles’ desk, likely referencing the name plate on the other side of the cubicle.

Stiles laughed. “Nah, even my dad doesn’t use it. Not even when he’s mad! My parents just wanted to give my high school teachers anxiety during roll call.”

“Clearly.” Liam grinned. “I see you’ve got some programs open. IT always fucks up the setup though, so we’re gonna—” He cut himself off just as an email appeared in Stiles’ inbox, a little pop-up alert showing at the bottom of the screen.

It was from someone Stiles didn’t know, the recipient being the whole floor—probably a distribution list. All it said was “#2” in the subject line.

“Shit,” Liam hissed. “Just be cool.”

“What does that mean?” Stiles asked, confused.

“Head honcho’s on the floor. We get loud and eat at our desks and stuff, which we shouldn’t, and every now and then one of the bosses does a walk around to make sure everyone’s working or whatever. It’s a quick walk-around, nothing to worry about.”

Stiles didn’t think much on it, asking Liam which programs he had left to open when everyone around him went dead quiet. He looked up and found Derek right in front of his desk, smiling down at him, and _fuck_  did he ever have a nice smile.

“Hey,” Derek said, leaning forward slightly against his cubicle.

Liam looked like he was trying not to breathe beside him.

Stiles just said, “Hi.” He tried not to smile too much, but it was hard. This was the first time he saw Derek since their meeting back when Stiles still had his casts on. They’d spoken on the phone a lot, but they hadn’t _seen_  each other. He’d forgotten how attractive he was in person.

“How’s it going? All settled in?” Derek asked, practically ignoring that everyone had stopped what they were doing to stare.

“Well, considering I _literally_  just sat down, things are going fine?”

Derek laughed and Liam looked like he was about to shit himself.

“Fair enough.” He leaned back slightly and looked at Stiles’ name plate. “Is that your real name? I hope you don’t expect people to say that.”

“Nah,” Stiles waved one hand. “I’ll probably just put a post-it note over it. They can call me Stiles.”

“How do you pronounce it?”

“Mieczyslaw,” he said. Derek took a second before he repeated it. “Close enough.”

“What time are you taking lunch today?”

“Uh, well it’s my first day,” Stiles reminded him slowly. “Haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

“Okay, well,” Derek checked his watch, “I have a meeting at eleven, but I’ll email you when I’m out. Maybe we can grab a bite together?”

“Sure.” Stiles waited for him to leave, but Derek just stood there, making everyone but Stiles uncomfortable. “Okay. So we’ll chat later.”

“Right.” Derek seemed to realize they were at work. “Yes. I’ll email you.” He patted the top of the cubicle once, smiled again and waved. “Talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

He watched Derek head back to the front and continue on his way around the corner. He was barely out of sight when Liam smacked him hard in the arm.

“Dude! How do you know Derek fucking Hale?!”

“Eh, we go back a ways,” Stiles said with a small smile. He didn’t think it would be a good idea to spread his previous job around, that’d make things awkward.

He’d already gotten two “you sound familiar” comments and he’d only been in the building for twenty minutes. He’d rather just pretend he had no idea what they were talking about, it saved both him _and_  the other person the embarrassment.

Liam seemed to take his comment for what it was and went into Stiles’ training. The majority of his morning was spent listening to Liam fight with IT over their botched job, and then he was finally able to start working on things, Liam showing him what to look for and how to use all the programs.

By twelve-thirty, Stiles decided he liked Liam. He was an asshole who knew how to play nice, and he seemed to like Stiles. He invited him to lunch, since Derek still hadn’t emailed him, and Stiles hesitated before seeing an email in his inbox from ten minutes ago from a name he recognized. Clicking on it, he read the message, and took Liam up on his offer.

_Good afternoon Stiles,_   
_I regret to inform you that Mr. Hale is unable to keep your scheduled appointment. He will contact you directly to re-book it accordingly._   
_Regards,_   
_Erica Reyes_   
_Executive assistant to COO Derek Hale_

It was so ridiculously formal Stiles almost rolled his eyes, but managed to refrain.

He went to lunch with Liam and a few of his friends from other departments. It was fun, and when he got back to his desk, he was left on his own with a stack of documents to work through. It was a lot to learn, but he felt like he was doing pretty well.

When the day ended, he called goodbye to the various people he’d met and headed out. The lot for employees was full—predictably, Stiles had shit luck with parking—but he was provided with instructions on how to get to another public underground lot a few blocks away.

Stiles hadn’t taken them up on the offer, because it happened to be the same lot his Jeep had been parked in when Gerard had attacked him and he was more than okay never going to that lot ever again.

So, he walked instead.

His dad had dropped him off that morning, but until he could figure out where to park going forward, he wasn’t sure what to do about the commute. He knew it was a little stupid to be scared of a parking lot, but considering what had happened to him there, he felt like it was justified.

He was two blocks away from work when his phone rang. He pulled it out and smiled a little at the name before answering.

“Do you have any idea how scared people are of you? It’s kind of hilarious.”

 _“I’m the big boss, people are supposed to be scared of me,”_ Derek said, amusement in his tone.

“Sorry, did I ruin your image with my aloof nature? Shall I cower in fear the next time you come by?” He grinned.

 _“Shut up. Sorry about lunch. Got pulled into another meeting and then Peter hijacked me.”_ Derek said.

“It’s cool, you’re the COO. You’re a busy guy,” Stiles insisted as a car passed him on the road.

_“Where are you? It sounds loud.”_

“Just walking home.”

_“What? Why are you walking home? What happened to your Jeep?”_

“I don’t have a parking spot in the building. Didn’t want to park in the closest lot, so my dad dropped me off this morning. It’s all good, don’t worry about it.”

Derek inhaled, like he was going to speak again, and then didn’t. Stiles figured he’d been about to ask why he wouldn’t park in the other lot before presumably realizing _exactly_  why he wouldn’t park in the other lot.

_“I’ll get you a parking spot.”_

“Derek, it’s _fine_. I don’t need one. Don’t go all big boss on someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

_“We have some visitor spots, I wouldn’t be kicking anyone out of their own. I’ll talk to Peter, we’ll get it sorted out for you for tomorrow.”_

“Derek—”

_“How was your first day?”_

It was very clear Derek wasn’t going to let him argue, so Stiles rolled his eyes and let out a huge sigh, then talked to him about his day. Derek’s phone crackled at one point when he got into an elevator, and Stiles paused for minute when the other man had to ask someone to help him with something—Stiles didn’t hear what, just that it related to his car. When he was back on the line, he went to speaker a few minutes later, listening to Stiles talk about his day.

Stiles was still in the middle of discussing the weird programs the firm used when a car stopped beside him. He tensed out of instinct, quickly moving further into the sidewalk before turning and seeing a black Camaro with Derek behind the wheel.

“Get in, I’ll give you a ride home.”

Stiles hung up his phone and sighed again, shifting his messenger bag on his shoulder so he could open the passenger-side door and climb in.

“You know you’re being a little extra right now, right?” Stiles insisted, closing the door and pulling on his seatbelt while Derek pulled back into the other lane and continued on his way.

“I’m not allowed to help a friend out?”

“You help me out any more, my dad will think you’re stalking me.”

“I don’t need to do that,” Derek insisted, turning to give him a small smile. “Don’t need to stalk someone who’ll willingly get into my car.”

“Now you’re just being creepy, stop that.”

Derek laughed and kept driving them back towards the more residential parts of town. Stiles had to give him directions to his place, and Derek followed them without complaint, even though Stiles was terrible at giving advance warning and would say, “turn here” when Derek was _literally_  passing the street.

He stopped his car on the curb behind the cruiser, Stiles’ Jeep in the driveway like it always was. Thanking him for the ride, Stiles started to open the door before pausing, turning back to Derek. Things had been really good between them for a while, now. And he’d be lying if he didn’t admit they were clearly heading in a more romantic direction. Sure, things had started off a little rough and bumpy, but Derek cared about him, and Stiles really liked him. He’d kind of gotten over his anger at Derek a while ago, and really, he knew he was just mad because he’d wanted Derek to be different.

And he was. Maybe not _as_  different as he’d hoped, but it wasn’t fair to put Derek up on a pedestal and then get mad at him for not living up to Stiles’ interpretation of who Derek was. And he’d apologized a million times, and had poured his heart out in a letter to his _dad_ , so really, if they were now working in the same building, it was stupid to keep pushing him away when he very clearly wanted Derek and it was already stated Derek wanted him back.

“Do you want to come in?”

Derek’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes widened slightly and Stiles could tell he was thrilled. “If you’re okay with that.”

“Sure. I mean, my place probably isn’t to your liking given we are but humble lower-middle class peasants compared to you, but I think it’s pretty great.”

“You remember I wasn’t always rich, right?” Derek asked, rolling his eyes.

He turned off the car and climbed out, Stiles doing the same and shutting the door. Once it was locked up, Derek moved around the car and followed Stiles up the driveway to the front door. He was just about to open it when it opened on its own, his dad starting at the sight of them.

“Trying to kill me?” his dad asked, rubbing at his chest.

“Don’t have to try, you’re doing pretty well at that on your own, pops.” Stiles slapped his shoulder on his way by. “Derek, dad. Dad, Derek.”

“We’ve met,” his father reminded him, but he shook Derek’s hand all the same. “I’m heading to work. You okay here?”

Stiles turned to his dad, who was _not_  subtle in his head jerks towards Derek, clearly asking if he was okay being home alone with him. If Stiles wasn’t so tired, he’d probably have face-palmed.

“Yup. I’ll drop by later for dinner, okay? We can chat then.”

“Sounds good, kiddo. I wanna hear about your first day. I’ll wait for you.” He slapped Derek in the back a little harder than necessary, smiling at him. “Remember, I own a gun and can hide your body where no one will ever find it.”

“Noted,” Derek said uncomfortably.

“Have fun!” The sheriff exited the house and shut the door behind him.

Derek looked concerned but Stiles just waved one hand dismissively and motioned into the living room. He called back from the kitchen, asking if Derek wanted a drink, then brought out some water for him since he said he didn’t. Stiles was a good host, water was always a must regardless of the answer.

When he fell down beside Derek on the couch after setting their drinks down on the coffee table, he realized he hadn’t exactly had a plan for the evening. He’d kind of invited Derek inside on a whim, and now he didn’t know what to do.

Derek seemed just as out of sorts as he did, and eventually just asked how he was feeling about his next year of school. Relieved to have a safer topic to talk about, Stiles rattled off the classes he was hoping to get into, and the revision work he was looking at for some of his pieces. It was purely personal, since he wasn’t going to bother trying to get any of his work picked up, he just wanted to improve the screenplay for his own fulfilment. Fix it up a little bit.

They chatted about his future plans, and Stiles admitted he wasn’t really optimistic about making it big as a writer in Hollywood. Derek suggested he could move into writing books, but Stiles didn’t think he’d be good at that. He’d really liked the one creative writing course he’d taken, and it was interesting having to put in more than just dialogue and various actions, but he’d barely gotten a B in that class, so he wasn’t too optimistic on his ability to write a full-length novel.

He joked that, at the end of the day, he’d survive if the best he could do was work at Derek’s firm.

That moved them into the topic of how Derek and Peter had made it big, and the more they spoke, the closer they got on the couch. Stiles hadn’t even noticed until he flailed one hand during a story he was telling and almost smacked Derek in the face. His knee was right up against Derek’s thigh and their shoulders were touching.

It didn’t escape his notice that Derek’s gaze lowered every few seconds before shooting back up to his eyes. He wanted to make a joke about it, but the air felt extremely charged between them, even as he kept talking about the last time he and his father had gone fishing.

When he paused at the end of the story, one of Derek’s hands shifted, touching his knee lightly.

“Can I kiss you?”

Stiles stared at him. “Did you seriously just ask me that? Don’t people usually just go for it?”

“Given our history, I didn’t think it would be very appropriate for me to just _go_  for it,” Derek insisted, shrugging one shoulder, eyes still on Stiles’ lips. “But I would very much like to kiss you.”

It was weird. Having his Derek here, in front of him, asking to kiss him when they’d basically been having phone sex for months. Well, Derek had been, anyway. Stiles had only done it the one time, but still!

It was weird.

“Yeah,” Stiles said quietly. “Yeah, that’s—sure.”

Derek’s other hand moved up to his cheek and he didn’t hesitate before bringing their faces closer together and slotting his lips against Stiles’.

It was soft. Stiles didn’t really know what he’d been expecting when he finally kissed Derek, but the kiss was extremely soft—which was weird, considering Derek’s beard. It was like he didn’t want to rush anything, and wanted to take his time. He kissed Stiles slowly and deliberately, pressing his tongue into his mouth, sliding his one hand from Stiles’ cheek back into his hair. Stiles fisted the front of Derek’s shirt, pressing forward into him. It was nice. Kissing Derek was really nice.

They pulled apart briefly before pressing together once more, Derek’s kisses a little harder now and Stiles shifting one hand to wrap it up around Derek’s armpit, tugging at the back of his shirt. The hand on Stiles’ knee moved to his hip and Derek was pulling him closer and closer.

They’d been making out for a good five minutes when Derek yanked harder at Stiles’ hip so that they were right against each other, and started tipping Stiles backwards so he was lying on his back on the couch.

Stiles’ brain instantly shut down and he felt his throat closing up. Panic set in and before Derek could even pull away to ask what was wrong, Stiles slammed the heel of his palm into his chest and started kicking and shoving at him.

“Get off! Get off me! _Get off_!”

“Stiles!” Derek immediately backed off, grabbing at his wrists even as he continued trying to kick at him. “Stiles, it’s okay! It’s okay, you’re okay!”

Stiles didn’t understand what was happening, because he could _see_  that it was Derek, and he understood that Derek wasn’t going to hurt him, but his brain kept insisting he had to get away from him, to shove him off, to escape.

Derek eventually released his wrists and got to his feet, moving away from the couch and holding both hands out in front of himself, like he was warding off a dangerous animal.

“Stiles. It’s Derek. You’re safe. I promise, you’re safe.”

His heart was pounding in his chest and his throat felt like it was closing up. It actually felt like he couldn’t breathe at all, but he knew he could, because his breathing was erratic. Dots danced in front of his eyes and he struggled to get himself to calm down.

Derek stayed a few feet away from him, voice calm and reassuring. He asked if Stiles wanted him to call his dad, and when he didn’t respond, Derek did so anyway, calling the police station and asking for the sheriff.

_“Stiles? It’s dad. Everything’s fine, I’m on my way home. No one is going to hurt you.”_

Hearing his dad’s voice over the phone calmed him slightly and Stiles was able to get his breathing back under control. He buried his face in his hands, struggling to calm down, his heart actually hurting with how hard it was pounding.

His dad showed up before he’d fully calmed down and sat beside him, rubbing his back and gripping the back of his neck tightly in a familiar and comforting fashion, insisting everything was okay, that he was going to be okay.

“What happened?” he asked gruffly. Stiles only knew he wasn’t speaking to him because Derek replied.

“We were, um—we were getting intimate. I started to push him down on the couch. I wasn’t thinking, I’m really sorry. I should’ve known.”

“Damn fucking straight you should’ve known!” the sheriff snapped.

“Dad,” Stiles insisted, rubbing at his face and clearing his throat. He felt fucking exhausted, and his brain was still kind of a mess. “It was an accident, it’s not his fault. I didn’t even—I knew I had problems with it, but I didn’t realize how bad it was.”

Not like he’d had anyone looming over him since Gerard, so it was kind of impossible for him to realize how bad it was until Derek had just done it.

Derek hesitated before moving forward, easing down onto the coffee table in front of Stiles, searching his face.

“Our benefits include a wellness program. It covers the financial costs of seeing someone for mental health and counselling. Usually it only covers up to seventy percent, but if the person you see deems it necessary for full counselling on a regular basis, they can let the firm know and we cover the last thirty percent that our insurance company doesn’t.” He offered Stiles a small smile. “I’m not saying you have to do anything, but maybe it’s something you can think about. Take advantage of. There are some great therapists in town. Alan Deaton helped me a lot after my family passed, he might be someone to consider if you want to talk about things.”

“I literally just started, it’s not like I can just use the benefits right away,” Stiles muttered.

“Why not? That’s what they’re there for. If you need them, you should use them. I have no doubts you’ll pass the three month probation, and you don’t need to have been working there for a specified period of time before you can start using them. If you need them, use them.” He nudged Stiles’ knee lightly with his own. “I’m not just saying this because I like you. I’d say it to anyone who works for us and went through a traumatic event. People’s well-being is a priority for our firm. Happy employees means good workers. It’s why we have the lowest turnover rate in the industry. People like employers who care about their staff. And we care about our staff.”

Derek pulled out his phone and scrolled through it for a moment. He typed something out, and then Stiles’ phone buzzed in his pocket.

“I just sent you Deaton’s details,” he informed him, putting his phone away. “Think about it, okay? I think it might help.” He patted his knee again, then stood. “I’m gonna head out. If you need some time, just let me know, and I’ll keep my distance. I just want what’s best for you.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said, though he felt uncomfortable and weird.

Derek nodded to him, then his father, and left the house, the door shutting quietly behind him. They both listened to him get back into his car and leave before his dad’s hand tightened against his neck again and he pulled Stiles into his side.

“He seems like a decent guy,” he said, voice still gruff, like he hated having to admit it.

“Yeah, he’s pretty great,” Stiles agreed quietly. He frowned at the coffee table, thinking over Derek’s words.

Stiles remembered therapy. Back when his mother had passed away, he and his father had both gone to grief counselling, covered by his father’s benefits at work because Stiles was still a minor at the time. It had helped a little, but Stiles barely even remembered the person he’d seen, it had been so long ago. He hadn’t even considered therapy this time around.

It had never really been on the table for what had happened to him. For one thing, they couldn’t afford it, and for another, he honestly hadn’t realized how badly what had happened had affected him. He’d had some nightmares for a while after the fact, and he couldn’t sleep on his back anymore—which had been difficult back when he’d been sporting two casts—but he hadn’t realized how much he would lose his composure if someone was on top of him like Derek had been.

A part of him was almost embarrassed, but a louder part of him was adamant he had nothing to be embarrassed about. And Derek had seemed extremely understanding about the whole thing, had even _apologized_  for not thinking about how that would seem to Stiles.

He thought about what Derek had said. About therapy. About the benefits. He didn’t want to take advantage of them, having only been working there _literally_  one day, but maybe after a month or so? Maybe when he knew for certain that things were going well at work?

“What do you think?” Stiles asked softly. “About the therapy.”

“I think you need to do whatever you need to do,” his dad said kindly. “If therapy will help, I think you should do it. If you want to just try it and see, and decide it’s not for you, that’s okay, too. I just want you to do what’s best for you, no matter what that is. Even if this doesn’t work out with your job and you lose the benefits, if therapy is what you need, I’ll figure something out. We’ll make it work.”

“Thanks dad,” Stiles said, sighing a little. “Can I just—I don’t want you to get in shit for constantly having to come get your kid all the time. Can I come hang out at the station for a while?”

“Sure, kiddo.” The sheriff kissed the crown of his head. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

They were in the cruiser five minutes later, heading for the station, when Stiles got a text message. It was from Derek, saying he’d managed to procure a parking space for him in the underground lot for the firm. One of the visitor’s parking spaces was converted into an official space for him, and if he drove to work the following morning, he could park there and head to the main desk to get a sticker for his window so no one towed his car.

Stiles smiled at that and sent back a thank you, then he stared at the number that was above Derek’s message.

He saved it into his phone, and decided that if he made it one month into his new job, he would call Dr. Deaton and see about getting some help. Even if seeing someone didn’t help entirely, he was sure talking about it with an objective party would do wonders for him.

Gerard Argent was _not_  going to ruin things for him. That man was going to rot in jail, and Stiles was going to move on with his life and forget the guy ever even existed.

* * *

Derek tugged at his tie a little while heading towards his office, papers in one hand and mind wandering. He’d just been meeting with Peter and a new potential advisor that they were trying to bring onboard, and if things worked out well, he would be one of their biggest acquisitions yet.

He had a lot of demands, and Derek worried about the Administrations staff being overwhelmed, but he figured if he talked to all the department heads and they got new people hired and trained up as quickly as possible, it would probably help alleviate some of their workloads and stress. Things were already going fairly well with the new hires they’d been bringing on across the board, and Derek was hearing nothing but great things about a majority of them.

Stiles included, which was great. He tried to stay out of work talk about Stiles for the most part, because most people knew he and Stiles had _something_  going on, but Stiles’ boss told his manager, who told the department head, who told Derek in a purely professional sense that Stiles was a quick learner and picking things up exceptionally well. Only two months in, and he was moving forward fast enough that the manager wanted to get him working on more complicated things.

Derek had never had any doubts about Stiles’ ability to succeed in the firm, he just worried about what would happen when September rolled around and Stiles had to go back to school.

They’d talked about it a little bit over the last few weeks, but Stiles still wasn’t sure what he was going to do, since most of his classes were in the middle of the day. Derek knew some departments allowed part-time workers, but Stiles’ department head wasn’t as accommodating. Derek wouldn’t use his relationship with Stiles to strong-arm anyone into doing what he wanted, but he hoped that if Stiles continued to shine like he was, come September, maybe things would change in an attempt to keep him.

Derek nodded to Erica when he passed her, headed into his office, tossed his papers onto his desk, and fell into his chair with a sigh. His mind returned to the problem at hand and he wondered if he could redo the budget to get more people hired before they committed to bringing the new advisor on board.

He glanced at his door when Erica knocked, and the way she was angling herself, trying to look innocent with both hands behind her back and a slight tilt in her stance, made it very clear she had just done something he was not going to be happy about.

“Got a minute?”

“What did you do?”

“Stop being so defensive all the time, I’m gonna start thinking you don’t trust me.”

Derek crossed his arms. “I haven’t trusted you since we were in high school and you swore up and down that you would _never_  be interested in Boyd while you were already secretly dating him.”

“Oh my God, get over it, I just didn’t want to hurt your puny feelings, you were worried Boyd and I would change if we started dating.” She rolled her eyes and fell into one of the chairs across from him. Her skirt was entirely too short, and while he didn’t _want_  to—because it was more trouble than it was worth—he was going to have to chat with her about that before Kira came over to bitch him out about it again.

Kira was nothing if not firmly devoted to their dress code, and Erica really towed the line.

“What did you do?” he repeated.

“So, don’t get mad—”

“I’m already preemptively mad.”

Erica gave him a look that clearly told him to shut up. “So Boyd and I had dinner reservations for our anniversary at _L’Étoile de Nuit_ , and we were fully committed to going, except we have recently come into possession of a weekend getaway with some tickets to see _Phantom of the Opera_ , and they’re on the same night.”

Derek stared at her. He probably should’ve thought that through, considering the tickets had come from him and Isaac. They knew this was the big five years for their friends, and both of them really loved that show. It was playing in Sacramento, so Derek had booked them an all-expenses paid weekend in a four-star hotel, and Isaac had bought them the best tickets he could afford so that the two of them could have a relaxing and romantic anniversary weekend together.

He should’ve figured Boyd would’ve made other plans, he had no way of knowing that Derek and Isaac were going to do this for him and Erica.

 _L’Étoile de Nuit_ was an extremely fancy and difficult to book restaurant the next town over. It had three Michelin stars and required tons of advance booking time to get a reservation. Boyd had probably had his name down for months to ensure a table on their anniversary.

“I can work with Isaac to have everything re-booked,” Derek told Erica. “We probably should’ve thought to talk to one of you before we did this. We just wanted to surprise you.”

“And it’s _the best_ surprise ever, don’t get me wrong,” Erica said with a huge grin. “But you don’t need to re-book. Boyd and I spoke about it, and we’d rather go on the mini-vacation our friends organized for us than a fancy restaurant. That being said,” she stretched out the last word, still grinning, “he and I were talking, and he called the restaurant to explain that the booking was still on, but that it was actually a surprise for a friend so that we didn’t lose it. So it’s under his name, but we are formally gifting it to you.”

“What?” Derek asked, deadpan.

“You can have our reservation. It’s under Boyd’s name, but the restaurant thinks it was a present for you, so you can have it. All you have to do is show up for it and it’s yours.”

“And I’m going to have dinner with who, exactly?”

Erica gave him a look. “Are you that stupid? I don’t want to have to spell it out for you, his name is really hard to spell. Like, why is there even a ‘z’ in it? _And_  a ‘w’? Really?”

Stiles.

Of course she was talking about Stiles.

Derek didn’t know how to respond to that. Things had been going really well since Stiles had started working there. Even after the debacle at his place where Derek had forgotten about Stiles saying he didn’t like being on his back, Stiles had been really good about it. Derek felt like shit, because he should’ve remembered that, but Stiles had texted him that same night and the next day it was like it hadn’t happened.

They’d had a few more makeout sessions since then, some at Stiles’ and some at Derek’s, but Derek was always extremely conscious of where he put Stiles. He usually tried to make sure his back was to the end of the couch, so that he wouldn’t feel trapped in, and could flip backwards over it if needed. It also ensured Derek didn’t forget in the heat of the moment and try and push Stiles down again.

Things were good. Really good. And he _did_  want to take him out, but he didn’t know if that was a good idea. If he was rushing him. If Stiles would even _want_  to.

“Just ask him,” Erica insisted when he was silent for too long. “The worst he can do is say no.”

“And that’d be pretty awful,” Derek said dryly. “Imagine if Boyd ever said no to you.”

“Boyd says no to me _constantly_ ,” Erica insisted. “‘No, Erica, you can’t buy those shoes’. ‘No, Erica, you can’t drop that much money just to get a nice manicure’. ‘No, Erica, you can’t wear a strap-on and try new things in the bedroom’.”

“Thank you for that visual I will never be able to erase from my brain, ever,” Derek said, rubbing at his eyes with one hand.

“Just ask him,” she said again. “Come on, don’t be a wimp.”

“If I do, will you shut up?”

“For an hour, at least.”

“Good enough.” Derek stood and headed for the door so he could go down to Stiles’ floor.

He heard Erica move behind him, but she didn’t follow. “You could’ve just called him, you know! Or gotten him brought up! Or had me email him! Don’t think you’re making my job obsolete here, you can’t fire me!”

“I can if I bribe Peter enough,” he informed her with a small smile over his shoulder, hitting the elevator’s ‘down’ button and waiting for it to arrive.

He was nervous the entire way down to the lower floors where Stiles’ department was. He only noticed while he was in the lift that it was just past noon, meaning Stiles probably hadn’t gone for lunch yet. He usually waited until after market close at one in the afternoon—sometimes, it sucked being in the earlier time zone, but then again, they all finished work relatively early because of it.

When he finally hit the appropriate floor, he nodded a greeting to the SVP’s executive assistant when he walked past her and saw her hastily cover something on her desk. Probably her lunch, he’d have to talk to the SVP about people eating at their desks again.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like it, it was that everyone was entitled their half hour lunch break, and if they didn’t have time to take it, he needed to know so he could up the staff. It wasn’t fair for people not to take their breaks.

He saw everyone’s heads down when he started walking past the various departments, all the employees working hard and speaking quietly to one another. He wondered if they all magically got an alert whenever he was on the floor, because they always seemed extremely well-behaved when he walked by, but heard from Stiles that, while they _did_  work hard, they were all very loud and rambunctious.

Reaching Stiles’ department, he saw him leaning back in his seat, staring at the ceiling with his headset on and an exasperated expression on his face.

“I understand that, and I sympathise, I do, but I don’t make the rules. The SEC does, I only help enforce them. I’m very sorry, but this is out of my hands.” Stiles’ eyes shifted to Derek when he saw him approach and a small smile formed before he motioned the headset, as if thinking Derek hadn’t noticed he was on the phone. “I understand. But it’s a regulatory requirement, it’s really out of my hands. Yes, you can call my manager, the answer won’t change. Yes. Yes, you can call whoever you want, I guarantee the answer won’t change.”

Derek reached over and grabbed the headset right off Stiles’ head, ignoring the squawk he got in response. He pressed the earpiece to one ear, and spoke into the mouthpiece.

“Hello. This is Derek Hale. If my associate if telling you something is outside of our control due to the stringent requirements of the SEC, you’re going to have to listen to him. We are not in a position to get fined at this time, and I would prefer not to go to jail over an SEC infraction. Whatever he communicated to you is how it is, I’m sorry you don’t like it, but please proceed as per my associate’s instructions and stop arguing with my staff. They are here to ensure compliance with all laws and regulatory requirements, not to make your life miserable. Enjoy your day.”

He leaned over Stiles to hang up the call on his computer, where the digital appearance of a phone was.

Everyone was silent for a few seconds before Stiles let out an explosive sigh.

“I had that, you know,” he insisted, taking the offered headset back and returning it to its base. “I’m a big boy. Pay bills and file taxes and everything.”

“Cute,” Derek said, remembering the multitude of times Stiles had spoken those same words over the phone while he still worked at Magical Encounters. “Wanna go for lunch?”

“Right now?” Stiles checked the time on his computer. “It’s still market hours. I kinda shouldn’t until after one.”

“It’s fine,” Derek insisted, turning to the left where his boss was sitting two seats away. She was staring at him wide-eyed. “He can go for lunch, right?”

“Yes. Please. Take him.”

He couldn’t help the small laugh, turning back to Stiles. “Perfect. Looks like you’re all set.”

Stiles let out an explosive sigh, rolling his eyes, but he locked his computer and stood, tapping his pockets—likely to ensure his pass was in there—and then led the way to the elevator, calling to someone that he was skipping lunch with him today.

No one responded, but Derek assumed they got the message. He walked beside Stiles down the corridor, one hand on his lower back while they made their way to the elevator. When Stiles called it, Derek let his hand drop and turned to him.

“Food truck? I think the mac’n’cheese one is down the street today.”

“Sure.” Stiles shrugged.

They walked into the elevator when it arrived, Derek nodding to some of the other people inside, and rode to the ground floor in silence. They were outside and heading for the food truck in under a minute, Stiles stretching loudly with both arms raised over his head.

“Your department always acts like they’re desperate to get you out of there,” Derek informed him with a small smile, since they always acted like that when Derek came by to grab him. “What are you doing to them?”

Stiles still had both arms up, but more relaxed, gripping one wrist with his other hand and resting them on his head. He gave Derek a look. “You realize they want me gone so bad because it makes _you_  gone, right? It’s not me they’re chasing away, it’s you.”

Derek frowned. “Is it because they think I’m scary?” He knew Stiles joked about it every now and then, but he hadn’t exactly thought much on it. Were people really _that_  scared when Derek came around?

“Pretty much.”

“ _Am_  I scary?” Derek asked.

Stiles grinned at him. “Not to me, but I used to help you get off so, you know.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Never living that down.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Great,” he muttered. “But seriously, _am_  I scary?”

“You’re the big boss.” Stiles shrugged. “People are supposed to be scared of you. I would probably be scared of you if I didn’t know you. I mean, if Peter came to our floor I’d probably wet myself, because I don’t know him. Everyone else feels that way about you. And Peter, but you know what I mean.”

“Hm.” Derek had never really considered that being the big boss made him so scary. He often joked about it, but hadn’t thought it was _true_. He figured he should probably try and work on that, get some more corporate events planned so people would be less scared of him. He didn’t want to be that guy everyone freaked out around.

They reached the food truck relatively quickly, and while the line was long, it moved extremely fast, the workers evidently used to the lunch crowd. Stiles was in front of him, so he ordered first, but Derek bullied his way forward to pay for him, insisting he’d asked him to have lunch, so it was his treat.

They chatted for a few minutes while waiting on their food, then went to sit by the edge of a nearby planter where there was a bit of shade. The entire area was a type of concrete garden, with various planters and patches of grass and trees around. Most people were sitting on the grass, but Derek’s suit was expensive and even sitting on the planter was ill-advised, but the benches were taken.

Stiles was still complaining about his dad not watching what he ate, shoving forkfuls of macaroni into his mouth, and Derek listened attentively. He knew he had to ask Stiles out before they headed back, but he couldn’t find the right opening, so he just listened to him talk. He didn’t mind, he loved hearing Stiles talk.

Eventually he moved on to his sessions with Deaton. Stiles had ended up taking his advice and was seeing the therapist three times a week. It was deemed necessary, from Deaton’s perspective, so Stiles was lucky enough to have everything covered—seventy percent from the insurance company, and the last thirty from the firm. And Derek knew Deaton well enough to know he wasn’t doing it so Stiles didn’t have to pay out of pocket just because Derek liked him. If he was saying Stiles needed it, it was because it was true.

Stiles seemed to think things were going well, though, which was good. Derek knew it wasn’t going to be an overnight cure, and Stiles would probably have to see Deaton for at minimum a year, but at least he was open to getting help, and was actually doing so. No good would come from him pretending he was fine when he clearly wasn’t.

“I used to see a therapist,” Stiles admitted while they headed back, slapping his hands together while finishing up the last of the garlic toast he’d received with his pasta. “Back when my mom died. I was still a kid, so my dad’s insurance covered most of it. Dad and I both went to see someone to kind of talk through it. It helped, as much as talking about losing someone _can_  help. Guess you’d know what that’s like, too,” he said quietly.

It still hurt when Derek thought about the loss of his family, but it was more tolerable, now. He was in a good place, with Peter, with his friends, with Stiles. It still hurt, but not as much as it used to.

“I think therapy only works for people who let it be what it is. Some people go in expecting a quick fix, and it never is. Some people go in already thinking it won’t help, so it doesn’t. I think therapy is only as good as the people who are willing to give it a chance for what it is. It took me a long time to realize that.”

“Were you rebellious about it?” Stiles asked, smiling a little, like he could picture that.

“I didn’t think I needed it, so I basically wasted time with Deaton. It took me a while to realize I was never going to be able to work through my problems if I just pretended I didn’t have any. I know therapy’s not for everyone, and I know that it doesn’t work the same way for everyone, but it can really help some people when they give it a chance.” He smiled at Stiles. “Like you.”

“And you,” Stiles insisted, shoving him lightly. He laughed when Derek stepped in a puddle of murky water, making a face. “Imagine if my department saw you now. Derek Hale, walking through gross, likely contaminated rainwater.”

“You’re not cute.”

“That is a bald-faced lie,” Stiles insisted, turning the corner so they could head towards their building.

Derek didn’t want to do this at work. He wanted to be Derek and Stiles when they had this conversation, not Derek Hale and one of his many employees.

He touched Stiles’ arm lightly, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. Stiles turned to him, and stopped as well when he realized Derek had. He cocked an eyebrow and Derek kind of lost his nerve. It had been years since he’d asked anyone out, and even then, it hadn’t been serious to him. He’d asked people out just to keep them happy before fucking them later. They tended to appreciate it more when he paid for dinner first.

“What’s up?” Stiles asked when the silence stretched on for too long. “I know you’re the head honcho, but lunch is only a half-hour for me, and I don’t wanna be too late getting back with the market still open.”

“I know, sorry.” Derek steeled his courage. “I have a reservation at _L’Étoile de Nuit_ coming up and I was wondering if you’d like to go with me. As my date.”

Stiles said nothing at first, and Derek was getting ready to plot Erica’s death and bury her body where nobody would ever find her, when Stiles’ expression softened and he smiled.

“Yeah. Yeah, Derek, sure. That sounds really nice. When?”

“Next Saturday,” he said in a rush, relieved Stiles had agreed. “I know it’s short notice, but it’s really hard to get a reservation, and this one kind of fell into my lap, and I didn’t—”

“It’s plenty of notice, dude,” Stiles punched him lightly in the arm. “Don’t worry, I’m free. Sounds like fun.”

“Great.” Derek tried not to smile too big at him, but he didn’t think he succeeded because Stiles laughed and grabbed his hand, tugging him forward again to continue back to work. He dropped it relatively quickly, but Derek figured it wasn’t appropriate in the workplace.

Technically speaking, him and Stiles having this kind of relationship had been a nightmare for Kira, because while it wasn’t strictly _disallowed_ , it was also a bit of a problem when it came to the chain of command because Stiles could complain to Derek about someone and he could theoretically fire whoever that was if he got mad enough about it. On the flipside, if things went south between the two of them, Derek could start threatening people to fire Stiles, as well, so it caused a huge liability.

Derek insisted that would never happen because it had already been a big enough problem getting rid of Garrett Douglas and the lawsuit had taken so long to finish, so firing someone without cause just because of a relationship was not something Derek was eager to do. Garrett had been fired _with_  cause and it had taken forever for all that to die down, he wasn’t interested in going through that again.

When they entered the elevator once more, Stiles smiled and waved at Derek when it stopped on his floor, heading back to work. Derek waited for the doors to close before he fist-pumped, then remembered security could see him and awkwardly cleared his throat, straightening out his jacket before stepping off the lift when the doors opened again.

Erica was waiting for him, ready to pounce, a manic gleam in her eye.

“Well? What happened? Did you ask him? Or did you chicken out? You chickened out, didn’t you? Typical. Do I need to ask him for you?”

“I asked him,” Derek insisted. “He said yes.”

“Hot damn!” She slapped his ass, having him turn to her sharply. One of the women in HR choked on her drink before she started laughing.

“That’s sexual harassment.”

“Oh please, you’re like, my best friend, let me have my fun.” She slapped it again for good measure, winked at him, and headed back for her desk. “Peter owes me fifty bucks.”

“Stop betting on my personal life!”

“No way, I’m up almost two grand in the past three years, Peter’s paying for all the things Boyd says no to.”

Derek really hated the people in his life.

* * *

Stiles was chewing absently on a pen, vision unfocussed and mind wandering even while he knew he had to pay attention. The professor’s WebEx was extremely important, and he was actually assigning homework since the class was ending in a few minutes, but Stiles couldn’t stop thinking about Derek.

He knew he’d be seeing him tomorrow, since he had work—thankfully he was part-time and could keep his job, which was doing wonders for his dad’s health considering he had less financial concerns. It had been a nightmare trying to schedule courses in such a way that Stiles could work three days a week, but his boss had argued fervently with the department head to let him stay so he did what he had to do in order to make everyone happy. If that meant a full course load on two days of the week, well, small price to pay.

Still, tomorrow seemed so far, Stiles wondered if he could head over tonight and they could ride in together in the morning.

It wouldn’t be the first time, he and Derek had been doing exceptionally well of late. Stiles wasn’t really sure when they considered the beginning of their relationship, but if it counted as the first day Derek had kissed him—Stiles’ first day of work—then they were going on about six months. If it was when they had their first official date, then more like just over four.

It was still surreal when he thought about it sometimes. He’d met a guy at work, who had betrayed him, and happened to be Derek Hale. They’d worked things out, he’d forgiven him, and now he had a well-paying, _respectable_ , steady job and a caring boyfriend. All in all, things had worked out well for him.

He jerked when the professor called an end to class and realized he’d completely zoned out. Thankfully the assignment was on the screen in front of him and he quickly print-screened it before the window closed and the WebEx ended. He read over what was in front of him, sighing and tossing his pen down before checking the time.

He’d just finished a full day of classes, with it now being almost four, and he debated whether or not to go to Derek’s before deciding tomorrow was too far. Standing, he grabbed his messenger bag, slotted his laptop into it, and then started shoving some clothes in as well, doing so almost on auto-pilot since he’d been doing this a lot lately. It was easier to hang out at Derek’s than it was to hang out at his place.

His dad kept insisting he didn’t want to know what Stiles got up to in his house while he wasn’t there, not that he and Derek were intimate in _that_  sense. They still had the occasional phone sex, which was always fucking awesome, but mostly they cuddled and made out when they were together in person. It was weird, but it worked for them.

And he figured Derek was still a little uncomfortable trying to get them over that last bump. Stiles didn’t mind, he kind of still had issues about being on his back, anyway. Not that he was opposed to doggy-style, but he didn’t know if Derek’s reluctance was for his benefit or Derek’s own, so he figured he wouldn’t push.

Texting his dad while heading out the door, Stiles climbed into the Jeep and backed out of the drive, making his way towards Derek’s place. He parked in the visitor’s lot, pulling the parking pass out of the glovebox and setting it on the dash.

When he walked into the building, he waved a greeting to the security guard, who nodded back lazily, clearly bored. Stiles felt bad for him, but the last time they’d stopped to chat, someone had broken into some of the cars in the visitor’s lot and the guy had gotten in trouble, so he didn’t want to bother him again.

He headed up to Derek’s place, letting himself in with the spare key. Stiles was still thrilled about the spare, because he’d only had it for about two weeks. Derek had sent it to him in an inter-office envelope at work without explanation. It had literally landed on his desk and when Stiles had opened the envelope, he was extremely confused at first, because it had seemed empty. Then he’d realized there was a key and had spent the rest of the day confused and trying to figure out what it was for.

Eventually he emailed the mailroom to ask who the envelope had been from. They forwarded his email to Erica—presumably on her orders—and she’d sent him a long email with only “HAHAHAHAHA” written over and over again.

He clued in after that what the key was, and he loved using it. He’d told Derek he’d love to give him a key to his place, except it wasn’t his place, it was his dad’s, and that would be a terrible idea. Derek had agreed and they decided it was better for the guy living alone to have an unannounced guest as opposed to Stiles whose father would likely race down the stairs with a gun drawn at the sound of the lock turning in the middle of the night.

Definitely better when Derek wasn’t full of bullets.

Stiles dropped his bag by the counter, heading for the fridge to see what Derek had in there so he could see about making something simple for dinner when he paused, frowning at all the pamphlets on the counter. They were for a bunch of different resorts and Stiles began looking through them, wondering if Derek was going somewhere. They all looked like the usual exotic places to visit. Hawaii, Cabo, the Bahamas, Costa Rica.

He pulled another pamphlet out and whistled, opening it and looking over the resort. It was for a place in Phuket, Thailand. It looked fucking stunning, each ‘room’ more like a little villa. It was hard to tell much from the pamphlet so he pulled over Derek’s laptop, rolling his eyes at the weakness of his passwords, and looked up the place’s website.

He balked at the rooms, because they really _were_  villas! With either an ocean view or a garden view. He clicked on a two-bedroom villa just to see what it was like and saw that it came with, not only an ocean view, but a private swimming pool, a rooftop lounge area, a private courtyard, live-in housekeeper and Thai chef, two villa bedrooms with king-size beds, a living room, a dining room, a media room, a kitchen, an outdoor louging sala, an outdoor dining sala, a personal bar, a heavy duty safe, and the usual electronics—WiFi, TV, sound system, the works.

Stiles almost had a heart attack when he saw the prices, though. For that villa, it was over eight-hundred American dollars _a night_! He supposed it made sense, considering how fucking extravagant the place was, and it boasted a lot of celebrity visitors and successful businessmen. Stiles knew that Derek and Peter sometimes took their higher-tier advisors on short vacations as a thank you, but usually it was a cruise or somewhere less extravagant. They didn’t normally take them to places like _this_.

It was probably some _really_  important advisor, maybe someone new they were trying to bring on. Butter them up a little bit, that kind of thing.

Stiles was still looking through the site, because he’d never been outside of America and Phuket looked _stunning_ , when he heard the door open.

“What are you doing?!”

Stiles jumped when Derek was suddenly beside him, still wearing his coat with his briefcase in one hand, and hastily slammed the laptop shut. He started pushing all the pamphlets away, as if hoping Stiles had magically missed seeing them, even though they both knew that was a lost cause.

“Dude, that place in Thailand looks _amazing_! Expensive as fuck, but super awesome. If you’re trying to butter someone up, I’d say take them there.” Stiles kissed Derek’s cheek, ignoring the annoyed look he was sporting, and continued on his way to the fridge, as was his original plan.

He was surprised to see almost an hour had passed since he’d arrived. He’d gotten extremely distracted by the pamphlets, and hoped he could afford to visit some of those places one day.

“What are you feeling today? Anything in particular?” Stiles opened the fridge and poked his head inside, perusing its contents. “You didn’t go grocery shopping again. I can tell, because it looks as empty as it always does. You know it’s unhealthy to eat so much take-out, right?” He sighed and shut the door, then turned to Derek, who hadn’t moved. “Chinese? Or Indian maybe?”

“We need to talk.”

Stiles stared at Derek for a second, then pointed a finger at him. “Okay, the _last_  time you said that, we had a fight of epic proportions and didn’t talk for like, months. Are you sure you wanna lead with that?”

Derek winced, as if realizing his mistake. He set his briefcase down, shucked and hung up his coat, and locked the front door. He came back to the kitchen and took one of Stiles’ hands, tugging him towards the living room.

This wasn’t boding well. Stiles was getting a little nervous. Shit, was Derek going to break up with him? Or tell him he was fired? Or that he was dying?!

Oh God, Stiles was going to be so fucking pissed if Derek was dying!

He sat down on the couch when Derek tugged him down, the two of them angled so they were facing each other.

“So I have a lot of accumulated vacation time,” Derek told him. “Like, a _lot_. As in, I haven’t taken a day off since Peter and I started the firm. Upper management’s time off accumulates, unlike the rest of the staff who can only carry over five days on a yearly basis. Peter and I made that decision early on because we noticed management rarely took their vacation time, and it wasn’t fair to them that it reset every year with only a five-day carry-over, so we made the decision that all management could carry over all unused vacation time, but our regular staff who were encouraged to take vacation time and often did could only carry over the five.”

“You must have like, months-worth of vacation,” Stiles said.

“I have a lot, let’s leave it at that. Peter’s forcing me to take it, but I don’t want to just... sit around here. I figured if I was going to take a vacation, I wanted to go somewhere.” He hesitated. “With you.”

“With me what?” Stiles asked.

“I want to go somewhere with you. Take a vacation with you.”

Stiles stared at him. “Wait, are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Derek looked uncomfortable now. “I just figured that it would be more enjoyable if I could go abroad, visit a new place, but it’d be more fun with someone else there. You’re the only person I would ever want to take with me. I spoke to Kira, because you don’t have a lot of vacation time accumulated, especially since you’re only part-time right now, but I have so much of it that we kind of came to an agreement where I could use some of my days towards you. It works out better for the firm, really, because I’m losing paid days off and you’re gaining some at a much lower salary.” He winced, as if not having meant to say that, but Stiles didn’t really see why it mattered. It wasn’t like Derek making a ton of money was a secret or anything.

“So I was thinking that we could go somewhere in November for two weeks. You and me. I know you have school, but because it’s online, we’d only have to figure out the time difference and you could still do your classes while we’re out there, and we can organize our days to ensure you don’t miss anything.” He shrugged. “So, what do you think?”

Stiles had no idea what to say. He had never in his life thought he would ever be able to leave the country, let alone go somewhere halfway around the world at the drop of a hat, and here Derek was offering to take him to virtually any of the places he’d seen on the counter. Though considering Stiles’ words about Phuket, he felt inclined to believe Derek was going to go for that one.

“I don’t... Derek, you know you don’t have to do this for me, right?”

“What’s the point of having money if I don’t spend it on someone I care about?”

“That’s the sappiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Maybe, but it’s true.” Derek leaned forward and kissed his temple. “Go on vacation with me. It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t have a passport.”

“Oh no,” Derek said, rolling his eyes. “Whatever will we do? People can’t just _apply_  for passports, that’s crazy.”

“Fuck you.” Stiles shoved him, grinning slightly, then let it slowly slide off his face. “Are you sure? I mean, I know we spend a lot of time together, but travelling together is different.”

“Considering what we’ve survived, I think we can manage.” Derek kissed him again. “And you were looking at two-bedroom villas. We can just get that and if we fight, at least we have our own rooms.”

“Dude, we are _not_ going to that place! That place looks insane, and it’s _expensive_.”

“Too late, you made your opinion known, we’re going there.”

“Oh my God, no!” Stiles whined, clinging to Derek when he went to get up. “You can’t, I won’t go.”

“You already agreed, can’t take it back.”

Stiles made nonsensical noises of annoyance, but Derek just laughed and pried Stiles’ arms off him so he could go get his computer. He brought it back to the couch and sat beside Stiles, the two of them looking over the website together. Stiles tried not to panic about the prices, but this felt like a lot. He understood that Derek was the first one to show interest, considering the pamphlet, but it was still crazy.

He just reminded himself that someone had blabbed about Derek’s yearly bonus being six figures, which meant his salary was probably astronomical. Stiles would’ve felt mad about that if he didn’t know how well Derek and Peter paid their staff as a whole.

Hell, Stiles was only part-time but still made over two grand monthly, still had access to full benefits, _and_  he saw how hard Derek worked, so he felt like he deserved what he made. He was a good employer, and a hard worker, and even if they _weren’t_  dating, he clearly cared that his staff got the best of everything that they could afford.

They were still paying for Stiles’ therapy, for fuck’s sake, and Liam had to see a masseuse and chiropractor a few times a week due to an old injury, and their benefits covered that up to ninety percent, which meant the firm was probably paying the insurance company a fortune to afford such good rates. Liam was literally paying peanuts for something he legitimately needed, so this place took care of its people which, again, explained why it had the lowest turnover rate in the industry. Everyone wanted to work there.

Hell, Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if more people moved to Beacon Hills _just_  so they could work there. Wouldn’t be a bad thing, cost of living in town was pretty decent.

Stiles ordered Indian while Derek perused the site a little bit more, and once he was off the phone, they spoke about the timing and what dates would work well. Stiles knew he had a short three-day break from school in November, so they tried to schedule it in that same period, Derek booking the ocean view villa for just over two weeks. Stiles almost had a heart attack at the price that popped up—over twelve thousand dollars—but Derek just paid it with his credit card without batting an eye and checked his email for the booking confirmation before looking at available flights.

Stiles argued fervently to pay for his own flight, and Derek agreed though insisted on booking them together because it ensured they would be seated together. He went for business class, probably hoping Stiles would back out on his deal, but when everything was paid for, Stiles calculated half of the price and then sent Derek an e-transfer of funds. It was expensive, but given the cushion he now had thanks to his way better-paying job, he wasn’t as uncomfortable with it as he would’ve been in the past.

Also Derek bought his lunch _and_  dinner almost all the time, despite his protests, so he was saving money there, too.

Stiles commented that it was interesting he could book a flight without a passport, which prompted Derek to immediately open another site and use his wireless printer to print out forms for Stiles to complete so he could get his passport as soon as possible. Stiles was sitting on the floor using the coffee table to complete them while Derek emailed work behind him, telling HR the number of days he was transferring to Stiles and informing Peter and Stiles’ boss—in separate emails—of the days that the two of them would be off. It was advance notice, and no one usually booked time off in November, so Derek said he wasn’t worried about Stiles’ boss having a problem approving it.

Stiles finished his paperwork before Derek finished his emails and shoved everything into his messenger bag. He’d have to get photos taken tomorrow and submit everything sooner rather than later.

Their food arrived while they were looking at activities they could do in Thailand and they ate at the kitchen counter so they could keep looking at websites. By the time they went to bed, Stiles was actually really excited, and felt like November was _entirely_  too far away despite it really only being a few weeks off.

When they lay down to sleep, Derek on his back and Stiles curling into his side with a small smile on his face, a thought occurred to him and his eyes snapped open.

“I didn’t tell my dad.”

“What?” Derek asked, voice thick with sleep, like he was _almost there_ but not quite.

“My dad. I didn’t tell him what we just did.”

“Tickets are booked, too late now,” he teased, tightening his hold on Stiles. “He’ll be fine with it, he’ll probably just give me a list of things he’ll do to me if you come back in a different condition than when you left.”

Stiles laughed, because Derek wasn’t wrong, and closed his eyes for sleep, actually pretty fucking excited about the upcoming vacation.

* * *

Derek hated travelling. There was literally nothing enjoyable about it whatsoever. It started with getting to the airport, which was always a hassle because there were a myriad of things that could be forgotten at home which were instrumental to a proper vacation.

Then came the airport itself, which was full of grumpy motherfuckers as unhappy to be travelling as him, not to mention the airport staff were usually exhausted and cranky themselves, people were always rude, and Derek somehow _always_  got chosen for a random body search.

Then there was the plane, which was cramped, noisy, smelly and the recycled air tasted like someone’s ass after a fart.

 _Then_  there was the flight itself, which was long and boring and every time the plane shook during turbulence Derek was convinced he was about to go out in a crash and how fucking lame would that be?

On top of that, there were the layovers, which consisted of more grumpy motherfuckers, rude airport staff, and security, as well as the _waiting_. Then getting onto _another_  fart-smelling plane, sitting and having to entertain himself for _another_  flight, and then finally the arrival.

With the arrival, oh fuck, that was the _worst_! Because he had to get off the plane, shuffle along behind all the other zombies, make it through customs, wait for his bag which always took _an eternity_ , and then leave the damn place either in a rental—which, again, fucking _waiting_ to get it—or a taxi— _and more waiting_!

Derek hated travelling.

Except when he was with Stiles.

Stiles was so excited about everything that the airport staff seemed less cranky, and his constant discussions with Derek about nothing and everything kept his mind off how long they were waiting, how long the flight was, how long the layover was. Stiles falling asleep with his head on Derek’s shoulder, his excitement when they took off, his constant pictures out the window when they passed over some clouds or when they descended and could see the land below.

Stiles made travelling less horrible. He could never make it _good_ , because nobody could make travelling _good_ , but he made it tolerable. He made Derek smile, and forget about the long hours of waiting and flying. He reminded Derek of why he’d fallen for him in the first place, and by the time they were in the car sent to the airport specifically to pick them up from the hotel, he almost wanted to laugh when he remembered Stiles’ comment about how travelling together was different.

It _was_  different, but only in a good way.

Derek sent messages to both Peter and Stiles’ father to confirm their safe arrival, and promised them both he’d give them their room number as soon as he had it so that they could reach them if there was an emergency given Derek would be turning his phone off as soon as his message was done.

They reached the hotel relatively quickly, the bellhop taking their things and following them into the hotel while they checked in. He disappeared once the desk clerk told him where to go, and then another staff member led Derek and Stiles to their private villa.

They were introduced to the housekeeper and chef, and then were left to their own devices, Stiles laughing and racing through the ridiculously extravagant courtyard before jumping fully clothed into the private pool.

Derek rolled his eyes and was sure the staff would be wondering how someone like him had afforded to get a villa at this place. Thankfully the person who’d led them there had left, and the housekeeper and chef were both inside a closed-off area which Derek guessed was the kitchen. They also probably assumed Derek was his sugar daddy.

Derek didn’t care _what_ he was to Stiles, as long as he was _something_. Though he liked to think he was Stiles’ boyfriend. He was fairly sure that was the classification they both went with when they spoke to others about each other.

“Get out of the pool.”

“Come _on_ , Derek! We have a _private pool_!” Stiles grinned, treading water and swimming a little closer. He lowered his voice, almost going into his service voice, but not quite. “We can go skinny dipping later. Would you like that, Derek? Get naked and swim around in the pool? I bet you would.”

Derek felt a flush creeping up the back of his neck, because that actually _did_  sound good.

“Get out of the pool,” he insisted again. “Let’s get settled in.”

Stiles swam to the edge and climbed out, his clothes sticking to him and making Derek stare a _little_  too much. He was thankful when Stiles grabbed one of the many towels on the sunning chairs around the pool, drying himself off as best he could before tossing it back onto the same chair.

They headed to both rooms, checking them out to decide which one they would prefer to stay in—Derek made Stiles keep away from most things since he was dripping water everywhere. The rooms were almost identical, but had enough small differences that they chose one over the other, Derek beginning to unpack their things since they were sticking around for two weeks and he hated living out of a suitcase.

He had to unpack Stiles’, too, because he was still wet, and tossed him some dry clothes to change into.

He’d fully expected Stiles to go to the bathroom or another room to change, but he just stripped down right there in the room, Derek freezing in what he was doing and staring. Even back home, Stiles always changed in the bathroom, and Derek had done the same out of respect for him. Now, he was literally yanking everything off, boxers included, and changing into another set of clothes. Derek knew he was aware of his eyes on him, because his skin started turning pink, but he resolutely didn’t look at him while yanking on his dry clothes.

“Done,” he proclaimed, tossing his wet items into the tub so they wouldn’t just sit in the bottom of the hamper. He turned to Derek, clapping his hands. “Wanna go explore? We don’t have anything planned for today, but maybe we can take a walk on the beach?”

Derek had to remember how to use words, because his brain was still thinking about naked Stiles and he was still holding a random shirt he hadn’t gotten around to putting in a drawer. “Sure,” he managed to force out.

“Cool. Get changed and I’ll go ask the housekeeper how to get down to the beach from here. Seriously, who flies in a suit? You’re such an old man, dude.” Stiles slapped him in the arm on his way out the door and jogged across the open area towards the kitchen.

“This is going to be a long vacation,” Derek realized, shoving the shirt into a drawer and taking a breath.

He changed quickly and went to meet Stiles, who was chatting animatedly with the housekeeper. She seemed really nice, and was polite enough not to comment when Derek came in and wrapped his arm around Stiles’ shoulders, kissing his temple. He knew that Thailand didn’t recognize same-sex marriage, but given the hotel they were in, and the price, he was positive everyone was well paid to keep their comments to themselves, not to mention celebrities came by on a regular basis and the staff likely had a lot of juicy gossip that they couldn’t legally share.

They left soon afterwards, Derek noticing the used towel had been replaced with a fresh one while they passed by the pool. Stiles led the way down to the beach, dotted with a few people but nowhere near as crowded as Derek had been anticipating. He assumed the resort owned the property, which explained the easy access, and it likely only allowed hotel guests in this area.

He and Stiles walked along the shore hand in hand, chatting and enjoying the warmer weather. The day was lovely, and Derek was actually really happy he’d convinced Stiles to come with him. Actually, he was happy Peter had demanded he take a vacation and Erica had not so subtly hinted that he should take one with Stiles.

Really, her saying, “Yes, please _God_ , take a vacation, and don’t forget to bring your boyfriend with you” was really hard to pretend she was trying for subtlety. Then again, she and Peter—and all his other friends—were probably thrilled he had someone in his life to begin with. It wasn’t like he’d ever shown this level of commitment with anyone else before, they were probably throwing a party right now.

And betting on whether or not he’d botch this. His friends were the worst that way.

They returned to the villa when the sun began to set and Stiles whined that he was hungry. The chef was waiting for them, asking what they wanted for dinner. Derek told the man to surprise them with a variety of popular Thai dishes and he and Stiles went to sit in the outdoor lounging sala. Stiles was on his computer, checking the times for his classes while Derek read. When the chef came to let them know dinner was ready and asked where they’d like to eat it, Stiles said he wanted to stay outside so they relocated to the outdoor dining sala and had an amazing authentic dinner together.

They watched some movies after dinner, but the time difference was beginning to hit them. Stiles retired first, passed out on his stomach and snoring into a pillow by the time Derek joined him. They had some plans for the coming days, wanting to explore the area and see some popular tourist sights, and surprisingly, Derek found that for once, he really didn’t mind being on vacation.

He kissed Stiles’ temple and settled in for sleep, excited about the two weeks they had together.

* * *

Stiles sat on the edge of the tub fully dressed, staring down at what he was holding before puffing out his cheeks while exhaling slowly. He put one hand on his thigh, the other still wrapped around what he held, and jerked one leg up and down.

He didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know if he even _could_. Considering everything that had happened with Gerard, he was worried that he’d lose his shit on Derek and it would ruin their vacation. He knew Derek wouldn’t let it, but Stiles would feel so bad that _he_  would end up ruining it.

It was just hard. He wanted this. He’d wanted it for a while, but he didn’t know if he was up for it. It wasn’t like this would be his first time or anything, but it would be the first time since Gerard. And he knew it was stupid to be worried about it, because things had never gotten that far with Gerard, and Stiles had been doing really well in therapy, even Deaton had said so.

Still, he didn’t want to kill the mood. He didn’t want their vacation to feel different if they started this and Stiles lost his shit halfway through. The first week had been fucking _amazing_ , and he was learning so much about Thai culture. All the places they were visiting were beautiful, and the people were so friendly, and the _food_. God, Stiles wanted to kidnap the chef and bring him home with them, because it was all so fucking good.

And he and Derek... It was just going so well. They hadn’t fought about anything major, mostly just about Derek sleeping in too late—which was true—and how often he was checking his work email—which he did. Derek got frustrated with Stiles always wanting to be out doing things—which was true—and how often he would push Derek into the pool when he was being a wet blanket—which he did.

Just little things that they bitched about for five minutes and then got over. He’d been worried being in each other’s space for so long would have them getting on each other’s nerves, but they were actually really good about giving each other space every now and then. If Derek was watching TV in the media room or working in the living room, Stiles would either go swimming in the pool, or he’d do homework or read in the outdoor lounging sala. If Derek thought Stiles needed a bit of space, he would go for a walk around the large hotel’s paths or hang out at the private bar in their villa with his computer or a book.

When Stiles had to wake up in the middle of the fucking night for his classes—stupid fourteen hour time difference—Derek often woke up with him and leaned against him while dozing just to keep Stiles company.

The entire vacation just showcased how perfect they were for each other. Why Derek had fallen so hard for Stiles after only having spoken to him over the phone. Why Stiles had felt compelled to forgive him and give this whole thing another chance.

And yet...

He stared down at the lube he held, wondering if maybe he should wait. Maybe he needed more time, or it would be best to just hold out until the end of their vacation so he’d only be ruining a few days instead of a whole week.

But he wanted Derek _now_. Fuck, when they went skinny dipping at night, Stiles wanted to fucking grab Derek’s dick and worship the damn thing. It was crazy to realize he hadn’t been entirely wrong when speaking to him as Wolf and calling his dick a monster cock. Because it was. It was a fucking huge thing, uncut, and it looked like it could make Stiles forget his own damn name. It was the most gorgeous dick he’d ever seen, and he wanted it in him _so bad_!

“Stiles?”

He fumbled the lube, almost dropping it, and hastily shoved it into his pocket, trying to look innocent when Derek stuck his head into the bathroom, frowning.

“What are you doing just sitting in here?” Derek asked, confused. He didn’t venture in any further, but it was clear he was concerned.

“Nothing. I was just debating whether or not I wanted to take a bath.”

“Decision’s made for you, dinner’s ready. Come on.”

Stiles nodded and stood, following Derek out of the room, a hand settling at the small of his back. He kind of liked that he had two comforting gestures to rely on, now. He’d spoken to Deaton about it at length. His dad’s hand at the back of his neck, and Derek’s at the base of his spine.

Deaton commented that it was interesting he found his father’s hand comforting considering where it was located, but his dad had been doing that to him since before Stiles could remember, and it was always an act that he attributed to comfort and safety. Not to mention it was the _back_  of his neck, so it wasn’t the same thing to him.

He sat down across from Derek at the small outdoor table, smiling and thanking the chef when he brought out their dishes. It looked like Pad Thai, which he and Derek had yet to ask for because they just kept telling the chef to surprise them. He was excited now, because he loved Pad Thai, and he was positive the authentic taste of it would far outdo the crap back home.

When they were finished, the chef brought out some mango sticky rice, mostly because he’d tried various other desserts the past week and Stiles always ended up asking for the sticky rice even when he was already full. The chef had given up with him, it seemed, and just brought him that to begin with. Derek usually got a different type of dessert, Stiles getting at least one bite of it so he could say he’d tried everything.

After dinner, they thanked the chef and bid him goodnight, and told him to let the housekeeper know she could retire for the evening, as well. They stayed in the outdoor dining sala for a while chatting, and after an hour, they stripped and went for a swim in the pool. Stiles dunked Derek every chance he got, laughing loudly at how much he looked like a drowned cat whenever he surfaced. They never really did anything exciting in the pool when they were together, it was just fun to be able to skinny dip and have a laugh together.

When Stiles climbed out, he started to dry off while Derek went to gather their clothes, and froze when Derek said, “What’s this?”

Stiles whipped around, and saw Derek holding up the lube. The thing that sucked was that it was clearly an American brand, with English all over it, so Derek _knew_ Stiles hadn’t just bought it while out and about on his own. He’d actually _brought it_ from _home_.

Stiles had no idea what to say, because Derek _obviously_  knew what it was, that wasn’t what he was asking him. His question was more along the lines of “why do you have this with you from back home?”

“I was just—I thought maybe we could—If you’re okay with—No pressure or anything, I was just hoping, or more thinking, because we’re on vacation, and we’re in Thailand and it’s just...” He inhaled deeply, trying to stop himself from just rambling. “I didn’t know if you were opposed to it for personal reasons, or because of me. So I figured if it was me, we could at least try. I’ve been doing really well with Deaton, and I think I’m more or less okay, and really as long as I stay off my back with you looming over me, I shouldn’t have a panic attack so I thought we could give it a shot. If you wanted. But if it’s you,” he continued quickly, “it’s totally cool. If you’re not up for it, I get it. You had something terrible happen to you and if you’re not—you are coming closer,” he said lamely.

Because Derek was walking around the pool from where he’d been by their clothes, and he grabbed Stiles’ face in both hands, one of them still holding the lube, and he kissed him. Stiles was still holding a towel in both hands, unsure of what to do with them, but he leaned into the kiss with Derek, opening his mouth and sucking on his tongue.

When Derek pulled away, he ran one thumb lightly against Stiles’ cheek. “I want to do whatever will make you happy. If you want to try, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

Stiles stared at him. “Bedroom. Bedroom now.”

Derek laughed, but Stiles just grabbed his free hand, dropped the towel, and dragged him towards their preferred bedroom. When they entered the small room, he shut the door firmly and locked it, because he didn’t want the housekeeper to come out of her room to clean up their clothes and towels, and see them fucking through the open door.

He kissed Derek again, arms wrapped around his neck and the other’s hands at Stiles’ waist. They walked towards the bed together, Derek walking backwards so that he would hit it first. He did, sitting down on it and Stiles straddled his lap, somewhat pleased they were both already naked because it would definitely speed the process along.

He rocked his hips into Derek’s, his dick already hard and Derek’s just as much. He kept moving his hips, rubbing their cocks together while they continued to kiss until Derek’s fingers began to tighten against Stiles’ sides and he pulled back slightly.

“This won’t last long if you keep doing that,” he said, voice low and pupils blown.

“Noted,” Stiles said, short of breath. He kissed Derek once more, then climbed off him onto the bed, crawling up it and staying on his hands and knees, head bowed and ass out. It was almost embarrassing to be that exposed, but this was Derek and really, they’d passed embarrassing months ago, at this point.

He felt the bed shift beneath him, and then one large hand slid along his left asscheek. Stiles jumped and let out a small shout before turning to glare at Derek when he got a hard, firm smack.

“Just making sure you’re still awake,” Derek teased, hand rubbing at the area he’d just slapped.

“Fuck you, Hale.”

“I think it’s more like fuck _you_ ,” he insisted.

Stiles rolled his eyes and bowed his head again while Derek kept rubbing one hand against his ass. “Don’t make me use my service voice on you, I know what gets you going.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Derek insisted, and Stiles felt both hands on his ass now, spreading his cheeks. “It would make this end too soon, and we wouldn’t want that.”

Stiles’ comeback was swallowed by the groan that slid up his throat instead, because Derek had just run the flat of his tongue along his asshole. Derek continued swiping his tongue along it, and then shoved the point in past the tight muscle, Stiles groaning again. He’d had no idea Derek was this fucking _dirty_ and he _loved_  it!

He could feel his cock dripping pre-cum while Derek continued to lick, thrust and suck at his asshole, and Stiles honestly hadn’t known this was anything he’d enjoy, but apparently he did because he started talking non-stop without meaning to. He was mostly just saying dirty things to Derek, about how good his tongue was, how much he couldn’t wait for him to fuck him, the usual things he’d always said during calls except this was so, _so_ real and he fucking meant every word of it.

Derek pulled away after a few minutes, Stiles’ limbs shaking and a thin layer of sweat coating him already. Fuck if Derek wasn’t God damn perfect at this.

He felt Derek’s fingers against where his tongue had been and he slid one in without any problems, his other hand rubbing smoothly along Stiles’ lower back.

“If you need me to stop, tell me,” Derek said, voice serious even while he fucked him with one finger. “If you start to have an attack, I need to know, okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles forced out, eyes sliding shut and hips pushing back into the finger. “You too.”

“I’m not worried about me,” Derek insisted, pulling the finger almost all the way out and pushing back in with two of them.

“I am.”

“I’ll be fine, but if I need us to stop, I’ll tell you.”

Stiles groaned again when he felt Derek scissoring his fingers, still pumping them in and out. He dropped from his hands to his forearms on the bed, pressing his forehead against them and breathing hard. It had been so fucking long since he’d done something like this, and to know it was _Derek_ behind him was _doing things_ to him!

Derek asked if he was okay, probably concerned about the position shift and the heavy breathing, but Stiles just groaned in response and he seemed to get the message that he was fine. He kept stretching him, other hand still rubbing his back, and bent down so he could kiss and suck along Stiles’ spine.

When Stiles began to let out a loud keening sound, Derek took pity on him and pulled his fingers out. He disappeared for a few seconds, and then one hand was on his back again, and Stiles felt pressure at his hole. Derek let out a harsh exhale as he slowly slid into him, Stiles biting at his closest forearm to stop from making any embarrassing noises.

Well, mostly to stop from _saying_  anything embarrassing, because the noises came regardless.

When he felt Derek’s thighs against the back of his legs, Stiles finally released the skin from between his teeth, breathing hard and fully coated in sweat now. Derek was really going to make him suffer tonight, Stiles could feel it.

“You’re so good to me, Stiles,” Derek said in a low voice, hand still rubbing his back and the other at his hip. “So fucking good.”

Stiles couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him at that. Derek was reverting back to how they were on the phone, and Stiles thought it was fucking adorable.

And sexy. So fucking sexy.

“I promise to clench around you,” he said, voice a cross between his service voice and his current completely wrecked voice. “I know what you like. I’ll treat you real good.”

Derek groaned and bent down, forehead resting against Stiles’ spine. The hand around Stiles’ hip tightened and then Derek pulled out and slammed back in. Stiles let out a strangled shout, gripping the sheets tightly with his arms still crossed and turning his head to the side so he could breathe more easily and kind of see Derek.

He started up a good rhythm, pushing into him slowly at first to the point where Stiles thought he might go crazy, and then steadily speeding up. When he started slamming into him hard and fast, Stiles almost lost it, but one of Derek’s hands was at his dick, squeezing the base hard. Derek bit at his ear, body pressed into him.

“Not yet,” he panted.

“God, fuck,” Stiles moaned, getting back up to his hands, and bowing his back. Derek slammed right into his prostate and he let out a shout, one hand coming up and reaching behind himself to grab at any part of Derek he could. “Fuck, so good. You do me so fucking good, Derek.”

Derek groaned. “I love that dirty mouth of yours.”

One hand reached forward and grabbed his chin. It was just high enough that Stiles managed to stay in the moment, and when Derek stuck his thumb into his mouth, Stiles sucked on it, nails digging into whatever part of Derek he was touching.

After a while, he shifted forward and pushed back at Derek to get him to pull out. He’d done so in a way that made it clear he wasn’t freaking out and then turned, shoving Derek onto his back. He landed with a bounce, head hanging off the end of the bed, but Stiles didn’t think he cared. He crawled on top of him, positioned Derek’s dick beneath him and then slowly sank down onto it with a loud moan that the front desk would probably hear.

“Fuck yes,” Derek hissed, hands rubbing along Stiles’ thighs while he rode him, rocking his hips down into Derek’s dick.

Derek didn’t seem to know what he wanted to do with his hands, because he ran them along Stiles’ thighs, then his chest, then gripped his waist, then back to his thighs. He let out a groan, head falling back off the end of the bed, mouth hanging open and eyes shut.

Stiles couldn’t stop looking at him, because he was so fucking perfect, and he was _his_  and what even was his life right now?

Cum was drooling very heavily from his dick, and he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. He bent down over Derek, hands sliding along his chest, and kissed his chin. Derek lifted his head enough that Stiles could kiss him properly, one of his hands coming up to bury in Stiles’ damp hair.

Derek started thrusting upwards when Stiles’ legs began to cramp and he couldn’t keep a good rhythm going and Stiles moaned into his mouth. Derek sat up, starting to switch positions before catching himself and just continuing to roll his hips up into Stiles.

Stiles kissed him once more before pulling off him completely and shifting back onto his side, lifting one leg up slightly. Derek got the idea instantly, moving in behind him and grabbing Stiles’ leg, pulling it around his waist and fucking into him again, hard and fast.

Stiles was half on his side, half on his stomach, hugging a pillow hard enough he was sure he was going to rip it. His shouts started increasing in volume, and when Derek brought one hand down to his dick, he bit into the pillow to muffle his cry, coming hard all over Derek’s hand and the bedspread, hips rocking forward into his hand even as his body shook and his balls pulsed.

Derek slammed into him hard one last time and buried his face in the back of Stiles’ neck, his body tense against him while he emptied himself into Stiles before relaxing and slowly releasing Stiles’ leg.

He dropped it heavily back to the bed, feeling like he couldn’t move, and didn’t miss the fact that Derek hadn’t pulled out yet.

They both lay there for a few minutes, trying to calm their breathing. Derek’s closest hand had wrapped around Stiles’ waist, and Stiles was running his fingers lightly up and down his forearm.

It seemed to take a long time for either of them to feel like speaking. Derek eventually shifted his arm up to Stiles’ chin, turning his head so that he could lean over him and kiss him. It was fucking perfect.

Everything about what they had just done was fucking perfect and Stiles was thrilled he could give Gerard a giant middle finger.

“I don’t think we can sleep in this bed,” Stiles said, sounding positively debauched, which made sense since he _felt_  it.

“Good thing we have another one.”

“Mm,” Stiles agreed, feeling tired, but knowing they should move. “Shower?”

“As long as it’s the shortest shower in existence.”

“A rinse, then. A brief one.”

Derek kissed him lightly again, then finally pulled out, Stiles feeling cum leaking from his ass. Derek got to his feet, standing unsteadily—yeah, _Stiles_  did that!—and then held one hand out. Stiles took it, struggling off the bed, and then kissed Derek lazily while he was walked backwards towards the bathroom.

They got into the shower together, Derek turning it on and running his hands all over Stiles in an unconvincing attempt to get him clean when he was really just trying to get him all hot and bothered again, Stiles was sure.

Stiles did the same to him when it was Derek’s turn under the spray, and while he was half-hard by the end of it, Derek was at full attention so he got to his knees and sucked his fucking gorgeous dick until Derek came with a shout down his throat.

They practically stumbled to the other room naked and still a little wet from their shower, but neither of them cared. They just got beneath the covers and Stiles half-lay on top of Derek, holding him tightly and getting comfortable with his cheek against his chest. Derek had both arms wrapped around him, and he mumbled what _could_  have been ‘good night,’ though Stiles wasn’t entirely sure.

When Stiles woke up the following morning, he felt _insanely_  guilty to find the cum-covered bed had been stripped and remade. He told Derek to make sure he left the housekeeper a great tip when they left, because they still had a whole week left, and he was sure they would be fucking a _lot_.

* * *

The first day back at work was fucking _hell_ , and not even because of the early wake up or the full day of meetings. Not even because of Erica’s incessant demands between meetings to know _everything_ and Peter’s knowing looks whenever they sat near one another. Not even because of the ridiculously monstrous number of emails he had or the voicemails of angry people demanding he call them _the moment_ he return.

No, Derek’s first day back at work was fucking hell because Stiles had the day off since it happened to be on one of his school days and thus he couldn’t go to lunch with him.

After sixteen full days of Stiles being within reach at all times, it was amazing how one day of not seeing him for a few hours was really souring his mood. By the time the day ended, he asked Erica how she could fucking stand it, because she was overly obsessed with her husband, and he couldn’t imagine feeling like this every fucking day.

“You get used to it,” she insisted, nudging him slightly. “You and Stiles are still in the honeymoon phase. After a while you learn to cope. But when one of you goes away for whatever reason, it really sucks.” She kissed his cheek. “Don’t think you got out of telling me everything, asshole. I’ll drag it out of you eventually. I want all the details.”

“Go home,” Derek insisted, shoving her towards her own car and unlocking his with the click of a button. He climbed in behind the wheel and sighed, wondering if he could head over to Stiles’ for a little bit, but he didn’t want to be overbearing. They’d literally _just_  gotten back the day before, he was sure they could survive twenty-four hours without each other, even if he didn’t _want_  to.

So, Derek drove home, parking in his usual spot and then rode the elevator up to his apartment. He had nothing in the fridge when he checked it, and realized it was because he’d been away for so long that he’d tossed most of it out before leaving.

Changing into more comfortable clothes, he went back to his car and drove to the store, wandering through the aisles and stocking back up on various groceries and household products he was low on. He took just under an hour, mostly because he didn’t want to go home to his empty apartment, but eventually he left the store and headed back. He put all of his things away and got started on dinner, turning the TV on for some background noise and already missing their chef back in Thailand.

He was _definitely_  going to want to turn this into a yearly thing with Stiles. He hoped they were still together for years and years, and this could be their winter vacation every year. The hotel had been stunning, the people were amazing, and the food was spectacular. He wanted to go back already.

Peter was going to regret making Derek take vacation, because now that he knew how amazing it could be when he had someone to share it with, he was going to want to be on vacation all the freaking time!

Finishing up his dinner, he went to sit and watch TV while he ate, getting invested in a show halfway through an episode and sticking around to watch the next one which was playing immediately afterwards. He flipped to Netflix when the second episode ended to see if it was on there, and was pleased to find four seasons, which he promptly started from the very beginning.

He was halfway through the second episode of the first season when someone knocked on his door.

Pausing it, he groaned and got to his feet, walking towards it and wondering if it was Peter coming to ruin his evening. When he pulled it open, he couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face when he saw Stiles there, shifting his weight uncomfortably with his messenger bag over one shoulder.

“I had dinner with dad because I missed him, but I kind of got used to sleeping with you,” he said, looking a little flushed, like he was embarrassed to admit that. “Do you mind if I stay over? I know we just split yesterday, but I—”

Derek just grabbed him by the strap of his bag and tugged him forward, kissing him lightly and then shutting the door.

“I missed you, too.”

“Didn’t say I missed you,” Stiles insisted with a small, adorable scowl.

“Implied it.”

“Shut up.” Stiles kissed him quickly on the lips, then moved around him to head up the stairs with his bag.

Derek went back to the couch and sat down, resuming his episode. Stiles returned a few minutes later in his pyjamas, falling down beside Derek and leaning his back heavily against him. Derek pulled his arm free and wrapped it around him, the two of them watching the screen.

“Is this _iZombie_?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah, just caught some episodes on TV a bit ago. Looks good.”

“It’s fucking _awesome_ , I can’t believe you’ve never seen it.”

That was good, at least, because it meant Stiles wouldn’t mind sitting there watching it with him, _and_  Derek wouldn’t have to start over so Stiles would know what was going on. They watched three more episodes in silence, then Stiles nudged at Derek and insisted they needed to sleep or work was going to suck in the morning.

He conceded defeat and turned off the TV, the two of them heading upstairs to get ready for bed. Stiles brushed his teeth and used the bathroom while Derek got dressed and then they switched spots. Stiles was already in bed when Derek stepped out of the bathroom, getting the lights on his way to the bed and climbing in beside him. Stiles curled into his side like he always did, one hand playing with Derek’s chest hair.

“I saw Deaton today,” he said quietly. “Might be able to bring my sessions down to twice a week soon.”

“That’s great,” Derek said, lips pressed against Stiles’ forehead. “I’m happy he’s been helping you.”

“Yeah, me too.” Stiles was quiet for a moment, then said, “I don’t know what to do with my degree.”

“What do you mean?”

“I always planned on leaving Beacon Hills, going to the big city, trying to make it in the film industry.”

“You don’t want that anymore?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “I’m really happy here, now. And I’ve been giving a lot of thought to what you said, about being a writer in general. I’d have to completely change my courses, which means more years in school, but I can write from anywhere. Screen is a bit more specialized, you have to be _there_ , but if I did books, it’d still be something I want to do, and I could keep working at Hale & Hale Financial Group. I could stay here, with dad, with you, with Scott when he comes back.”

Derek smiled. “I want you to do whatever makes you happy, Stiles. You still have time to think about it. Finish your courses this semester, and once you’re done, if you’re positive you want to try for books instead of screen, make the change then. You’ve got a place at the firm, always. And you’ve got a place with me here, no matter what.”

Stiles shifted, leaning up to kiss him. He lingered for a few seconds, and Derek slid one hand into his hair, deepening the kiss. Stiles pulled back first, poking him in the stomach and insisting no hanky panky tonight because they had to be up early.

Derek rolled his eyes and told him not to call it that, because he wasn’t five years old. Stiles just laughed and got settled once more, holding Derek tightly.

They were both silent for a long while, Derek’s eyes closed while he attempted to sleep. When Stiles spoke again, he tilted his head slightly.

“Hey Derek?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks for not giving up on me. After, you know. When I wasn’t willing to hear you out, when I shut you out and didn’t want anything to do with you. Thanks for thinking I was worth trying to win back.”

“You _were_  worth it,” Derek insisted, rubbing his hand up and down Stiles’ back once. “I lucked out. You’re everything I ever wanted, and I’m really glad I managed to convince you I wasn’t an untrustworthy asshole.”

“I mean, you _are_  an untrustworthy asshole,” Stiles insisted, clearly smiling against Derek’s chest, “but at least you’re _my_  untrustworthy asshole.”

Derek slapped Stiles’ ass and he let out an indignant sound. “Shut up and go to sleep, Mieczyslaw.”

“Call me that again, and I’ve sucked your dick for the last time.”

“Liar, you love my dick.”

“I could learn to hate it if you call me that again.”

Derek laughed, kissed Stiles’ temple, and they both settled for sleep again. He was almost asleep, his brain drifting, when a thought occurred to him and he smiled.

“Hey Stiles?”

The other grunted sleepily in response.

Grinning, and with his eyes still closed, Derek said, “Thank you for the magical encounter.”

Stiles groaned and tried to kick him off the bed.

Derek laughed and held him tighter. He was never letting him go.

**END.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen Wolf © Jeff Davis  
> Uncharted © Naughty Dog  
> Phantom of the Opera © Andrew Lloyd Webber  
> iZombie © Rob Thomas & Diane Ruggiero
> 
> So, the hotel in Phuket is real, and all the things listed are _real_! It’s insane! If you’re curious about what it looked like, you can check it out [here](https://www.aman.com/resorts/amanpuri/villas/2-bedroom-ocean-villa). It looked awesome, I’d like to go there.


End file.
